


Echo House

by DecimatedOddity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brunski (Teen Wolf) is an Asshole, Established Relationship, F/M, Gay Sex, Het Sex, M/M, Marin Morrell is a Saint, Not a nice fic, Porn With Plot, Rape, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27136079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecimatedOddity/pseuds/DecimatedOddity
Summary: Of two things Stiles was certain: he was not crazy and he had to escape.
Relationships: Brunski/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, nothing about Eichen was ever consistent, (honestly, a lot of things about this series and countless others was inconsistent, but let's not go there) so everything in this story is based on the titular episode from season three, Echo House. If it wasn't introduced in that episode, it doesn't exist in this story. Well… aside from the few things that I obviously made up. 
> 
> And also, the security in the show always seemed unrealistically tight for a mental institution, so they kinda don't exist in this story. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Anyway…. Let's go!
> 
> p.s. Please ignore any grammatical errors. I'm working diligently to find them all.

It had happened so much now that Stiles didn't even fight anymore. The first couple of times he'd been left with a few bruises, a site that was so common around this place, no one even asked questions when they saw them, but at this point, he just gave in and let it happen. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. Resisting would simply prolong the inevitable and cause him unnecessary pain. Sure Brunski was a disgusting jerk that Stiles wanted to watch die, but Stiles could put up with him for the ten to fifteen minutes it took the man to climax. So, after Brunski finished smoking the cigarette he knew he wasn't even supposed to smoke on the premises let alone inside the building, Stiles simply pulled his pants off, rolled over, closed his eyes, and rested his face against his pillow, the only personal item he was allowed from outside of Eichen. 

He heard the dark chuckle the man emitted in anticipation for what he was about to do. Stiles pointedly ignored it. He felt the small metal bed shift under the added weight, then a split second later he felt that weight atop him. Stiles remained quiet, as quiet as the situation allowed him to be. He felt rough calloused hands grip his bare ass. Stiles remained limp. He felt the cock that he wished was smaller slip between his cheeks. Stiles sucked in a sharp preparatory breath. Then—

"Fuck," the man grunted as he slid in. "Your ass is so good." There was no preparation, no ado. Stiles didn't respond. He simply lay there, letting his body adjust to the sudden intrusion inside him, letting the man start up a decent rhythm, trying hard not to make a sound. Stiles knew if he didn't say anything Brunski wouldn't say much either. 

But it was as if the orderly had a second sense for it. As the encounter went on, he thrusted harder and harder, his ass flexing with the effort of each inward stroke. He split Stiles open, making the boy twist his fists in the sheet from to intense feeling of the fat dick stretching and caressing until—

"Mnnnngh…" The smallest almost inaudible moan of pleasure escaped Stiles when the orderly hit a particularly deep spot that left Stiles mentally berating himself for letting it slip out.

"There it is," Brunski chuckled with his annoying voice. "I knew I could get a moan out of you." He jabbed in, his long shaft stroking Stiles' inner walls as he repeatedly struck the new discovery, and Stiles caved. Try as he may, as much he  _ detested  _ giving Brunski the satisfaction, he couldn't contain the muffled moans that escaped him. 

"Hmgh, mngh, ahh, fuck…" 

Brunski chuckled darkly behind Stiles as he fucked into the teen, revelling in his victory and Stiles thumped his forehead against his pillow in shame, his breaths coming in short puffs as the deplorable moans continued tumbling freely from him, as the long dick came and went.

It felt so good inside him and Stiles hated it. He hated it so much. And he hated Brunski. He hated the sound of his voice. He hated his stupid face. He hated his stupid cigarette breath. He hated his stupid big cock and Stiles definitely hated that he liked how that cock made him feel, how it got so deep inside him, stretching him in such a terribly good way. 

"Huagh!" Stiles cried, after a relatively sharp thrust in, then on the next outward stroke, Brunski completely unsheathed himself, leaving Stiles' hole feeling empty. For a second, he thought that it might actually be over, at least for the night. But then—

"Roll over," the man said in the nastily kind voice he always used during their dreadful encounters. 

Stiles sighed. Of course, it wasn't over. Brunski lifted his weight and Stiles lazily flopped over under the man, keeping a placid face and turning to stare at the wall. The action provided instant relief to the stiff cock that had been trapped between Stiles' body and the bed. It promptly stood to attention once Stiles was on his back, a complete contrast to the rest of Stiles' body. 

"This is why I come back to you," Brunski whispered, wrapping his hand around Stiles' dick and pumping it. Stiles clinched his eyes shut. He really wished Brunski wouldn't do that. "It turns me on knowing that you can't help loving what's being done to you, even though you hate the person doing it. And this stiff cock of yours," He squeezed Stiles' cock, eliciting a sharp involuntary hiss from the boy. Brunski smiled that horrible dimpled grin of his and shuffled Stiles's legs apart with his own. "This is proof that you  _ like _ it." For a second he simply peered down at the gaping hole between the boy's ass cheeks, ogling it as if it was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. Then—

"Ahhhh, fuck…" Stiles whined, biting his lower lip, because there it was. Once again, Brunski quickly started a smooth rhythm and this time, he pumped Stiles' dick in tempo with the sharp thrust, so there was certainly no containing any moans. Brunski fucked into Stiles, rocking the boy's body in the bed. Stiles's legs twitched when—"Nnngh…"—his good spot was violated. Brunski attacked it repeatedly, pumping in and out of the hole. Soon, only the sound of their layered moans and grunts filled the room, until without warning, Stiles felt warm fluid filling his insides, because of course Brunski never wore a damn condom. Bastard.

The man grunted deeply and roughly as the fluid spilled into Stiles. His thrusts were sharp and erratic making the boy tremble beneath him. After a few more lazy thrust, he flopped his weight onto Stiles, heaving deep breaths.

"That was so, good…" Brunski sighed with hooded eyes. He slowly pulled free, with bits of his cum seeping out onto the sheet. He lewdly peered down at Stiles and grinned that stupid grin Stiles hated, the one that looked kind, yet was still somehow laced in cruelty. "Now it's your turn."

He wrapped his hand around Stiles' still rock hard dick while he slipped two fingers inside of the boy, immediately locating the little knot that made Stiles see stars. 

Stiles wished Brunski wouldn't do that. He wished the man would just  _ leave  _ after climaxing. But no. If he was going to demean Stiles, he had to do it in it's complete entirety; he had to seal it. There was absolutely no way Stiles could deny enjoying it if he was lying in a chest full of his own come.

So after each encounter, Brunski always fingered Stiles' sweet spot and pumped the boy's dick, making him squirm and whine in mortification. Occasionally, he went far enough to even blow Stiles. Fortunately, this wasn't one of those nights. Maybe Brunski wasn't in the mood to have his throat filled with cock, but whatever the reason, Stiles was grateful. Grateful that he only had to deal with the man's plump fingers and not his mouth. 

Though watching Brunski struggle to make Stiles reach orgam would bring glorious, glowing warmth to the boy internally, he couldn't stop the pleasure from culminating, try as he may. It left him moaning and squirming in the bed, with Brunski grinning all the while, until—"Ungh! Mnngh! Fuck! Oh, God!" 

...until it was over. The man chuckled darkly, climbing out of the bed and tucking himself back into his pants. "Nighty, night, Stiles." And with the evil grin on his face, finally,  _ finally  _ he left, locking the door behind him.

For a moment the room was completely silent. Almost eerily so, now that it lacked to constant noises of sex. There were no more, grunts, or moans, or the squeak of the bed. There was just… silence.

For the first time since Brunski had come, Stiles glanced over to the other side of the room where Oliver lay quietly. He'd solemnly watched the entire show, the same thing he did every time. The boy was so silent, Stiles could pretend he wasn't there. It was less degrading that way.

"I'm sorry, Stiles," the boy whispered. And for a second, the two teens locked eyes. Stiles could see the pity looking back at him and glanced away in shame. 

"It's okay, Oliver," Stiles dryly responded after a few seconds. "We both know there's nothing you could've done." And with those last words, Stiles tugged his soiled shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor and limply rolled over to face the wall. Feeling worn, used, and defeated, he curled into himself and waited for sleep to take him.

—

When Stiles woke the next morning he found clean linen and clothes at the foot of his bed. He looked over to see Oliver's bed freshly changed, the boy had clearly done it already and left for the showers, and knowing that Stiles' shirt was full of semen from the previous night, Oliver had brought Stiles a clean one along with fresh linens. Bless him. Now Stiles didn't have to decide which was worse, walking down the hall of Eichen bare chested or in a come covered shirt. Stiles would have to remember to thank Oliver later.

Stiles rolled out of bed. He stripped it and changed the sheets, collecting the soiled ones along with the dirty shirt. After putting the clean shirt on and slipping into the laceless loafers the institution provided, he made his way to the bath. Typically, Stiles would skip his shower until he deemed it necessary because he hated the communal bathrooms of Eichen. But he felt extra dirty, as if he could  _ feel  _ Brunski's stench on him. 

Dan, Gary, Hillary, and a few others were moseying about that morning, but Stiles didn't particularly notice. With his sights focused on scrubbing himself clean and his thoughts inescapably set on expelling the copious amount of semen currently still trapped inside his rectum, Stiles wasn't paying much attention to where he was going which resulted in a head on collision with Meredith Walker, who seemed to have been going in the other direction, though she had an armful of dirty linen just like Stiles.

"Oh my God—Meredith," he started sincerely. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was g—" but he cut the apology short, his face full of confusion after discovering her lack of attention. She hadn't even stopped. It was as if they hadn't just walked right into each other. With scrunched eyebrows, Stiles watched her continue down the hall in the direction he'd come from, her head down, face void of expression, while she mumbled intangibly to herself with her clothes tucked securely under her arm. 

"Ummm…. You know the showers are this way, right?" he called out to her retreating form. It was as if he had said nothing. She was clearly in her own little world. 

"She's proof that some of us actually belong in here," a smooth voice said, making Stiles sigh from the comforting familiarity of it. 

"Good morning," he said warmly, turning to find Malia behind him watching Meredith just as curiously as he was. "Where do you think she's headed?" he asked inattentively. Honestly, now that Malia had showed up, Meredith was in the back of his mind. Stiles smiled at Malia. She was his ray of sunshine in this dark place. He'd stumbled across her a few days after his dad had admitted him, and they'd been growing closer ever since then. 

"I don't know…." Malia said quizzically, as she watched the girl exit through a door at the end of the hall. "And I don't care. I'm more concerned about you. You look like crap."

"Always such blunt honesty from you," Stiles said, clutching his chest in faux indignation as he turned and they set off toward the showers, passing a few other patients along the way.

"And there's always  _ sarcasm _ from you," Malia responded, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same. "But seriously though." She peered into Stiles' eyes, as if they held the answer to her life's purpose. "Brunski got into your room again last night." It was a statement, not a question. 

Stiles sighed. "You've been talking to Oliver this morning?"

"No," she said solemnly. "You're just easy to read."

It was Oliver who had slipped up about a month ago and told her about what Brunski's been doing to him, and ever since, Stiles always questioned the boy whenever Malia seemed to just  _ know  _ about each encounter. Honestly, he hadn't even planned on telling her it was happening, because… Why? What could she do? That and because it was just so damn shameful to talk about. Especially to Malia. Now, because of Oliver, he had to deal with her concerned glares all the time. Stiles sighed, turning his head towards the wall, rethinking his decision to thank the boy for the laundry.

"Yeah, he came at around midnight last night," Stiles mumbled. "I didn't get much sleep afterwards, I just…. I can't keep letting him do that to me. I have to get out of here.  _ We  _ have to get out of here. When's the last time you tried to use your powers?" Stiles asked hopefully. But he received blank silence in response to the question. Then, after a solid five seconds, she sighed a deep, calm sigh, speaking as she let breath out.

"You know my powers don't work bec—"

"Because of the antipsychotics they have you on interferes, I know, I know," he interrupted, gesticulating impatiently, "but when's the last time you tried?"

"Why does it matter? It won't work," she huffed her annoyance with the topic already showing. She stopped walking and glared at him. "I don't have any powers, Stiles. I can't get us out."

" _ God _ , I wish Scott would hurry up," Stiles groaned. "It feels like I've been in here forever. What's taking him so long? Why hasn't he sprung me yet?"

"Maybe it's because he knows your dad will only bring you right back," Malia huffed. 

"No," Stiles mumbled. "Scott wouldn't care. There's something…. Something's going on…." Stiles just didn't know what that something was. 

"Hey," Malia said, suddenly smiling a mischievous smile. She slipped her fingers between his. "How about I take your mind off of it?" 

Stiles glanced down at her fingers in his, then back up at the sneaky look in her eyes and a smile crept across his face. He knew this was simply her way of changing the subject, and a part of him didn't want to allow the detour, but he couldn't fight the way she'd chosen to do it. Clever little vixen.

"I haven't brushed my teeth yet," he said, in a cautious kind of way. "And I'm still dirty from last night."

"I don't care," she grinned, tugging him down the hall. 

"Wait—let me just—" He quickly, deposited the clothes and linen back in his room as they passed by it, then followed Malia out the door Meredith had left from earlier. The door led to a stairwell and the stairs led to the second floor, which held the infirmary and a large conference room for group therapy, and beneath that, to the patio outside. The non violent patients were permitted to go to any of those places freely throughout the day. But Stiles and Malia were headed to none of them.

A few weeks ago, Malia had discovered a rare unlocked door on the second floor next to one of the bathrooms. Behind that door was a room with a few odd and end things lying about. There were spare bed frames, a couple of filing cabinets. There were several wooden chairs stacked atop each other in one corner and a few old mop buckets in another. There were two windows in the room and a single candelabra dangling from the ceiling. But those things were unimportant to Stiles. Because nestled in a back corner, there was a small closet. 

It was there that Malia took Stiles, to the same closet they'd been sneaking off to since she'd found the place, because evidently, no one knew the room was unlocked. It was the wall of that closet that Stiles always pressed Malia's chest into, grinding his cock into her from behind. It was there that she pushed herself back on him and moaned his name. It was there that Stiles groaned, and tightened his grip on her slim waist. He would clutch it, pushing himself deep. He thrusted into her, loving the sight of his cock disappearing between her folds over and over again. Stiles went on his toes attempting to get as deep inside her as possible. It was there, in that closet, that Stiles experienced real sex. Real, mutual, requited, pleasure and passion. 

Their encounters in the closet were always quick and rushed, because they knew it wouldn't be long before their absence was noted. He had never seen her completely naked, just as she had never seen him. He would pull both of their pants down their thighs and tuck his shirt over his head, leaving it around his neck with his arm still through the sleeves to keep the fabric out of the way while he moved inside her.

It was a little awkward, they could never get their legs positioned properly, and the space was a bit cramped, but their hasty, half clothed sex was still the highlight of Stiles life. Nothing was better than his time in the closet with Malia. Because his orgasms with her were nothing,  _ nothing  _ like his orgams with Brunski. Whenever  _ he _ made Stiles climax, it felt strained and restricted because Stiles didn't want it to happen. Whenever Malia made him come, it felt free, uplifting, and relaxing. It felt amazing. It was that glorious feeling Stiles was chasing, when they were suddenly interrupted. He could feel the pleasure culminating, getting better and better and as Stiles pulled out to shoot his load in his hand, they heard the hallway door outside the closet open. Malia stopped breathing. 

"...piece of shit job. You should fucking quit," Brunski's gruff voice huffed as the door closed. Stiles muffled his moan as best he could with the jizz bursting from him, splattering into his palm, one two, three ropes of warm fluid. But of course, because he was never skilled at keeping quiet during bouts of ecstasy, the smallest moan escaped him and he cupped a hand over his mouth to silence it. "If they wanted to keep you, they wou—" At the sound of Stiles' soft moan, the man's voice abruptly paused, sending Stiles' heart to his stomach. 

Stiles' eyes were almost on the floor, they were popping out of his head so severely. He couldn't breath. It was as if someone had wrapped their hands around his lungs and were squeezing them like stress relief balls. Brunski of all people had caught them having sex. Neither teen dared to move, to make a noise and adjust their clothes, even though any moment now, Brunski would—

The orderly sneezed, the sound coming from the other side of the room, nowhere near the closet door. "Sorry about that. That one got stuck in my nose.  _ God _ , I hate that feeling. When they just won't come out, you know? But like I was saying, if they wanted to keep you, they'd give you a pay raise."

Stiles softly released the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding as he felt Malia relax in front of him. A sneeze. The man had paused because he had to sneeze, not because he'd heard anything from the closet. 

"We still going bowling when I get off?" he asked. 

Stiles and Malia remained motionless, trapped in the closet. It was weird to hear such a normal sound come from Brunski, something so human. And it was weird hearing such a normal response from him afterwards, when he was such an evil person. It was almost like he shouldn't have normal feelings. It was awkward hearing him talk about his life outside of Eichen. Did that person on the phone know about the monstrous, terrible things he did? Certainly not. No one who did terrible things like Brunski had someone to go  _ bowling _ with after work unless there were some secrets involved.

It was minutes that they were stuck there, listening to a bullying rapist make casual plans, minutes that they were cramped, their muscles growing stiff until finally, Brunski ended the call and they heard the door open and close. 

Still, neither teen moved. They waited, listening intently to ensure that the man was definitely gone. After a few seconds to confirm certainty, Malia shifted, pulling up her pants.

"Stiles we have to go," she whispered, snatching him back to reality.

"Right," he mumbled. They shuffled around in the closet, fixing themselves. When they exited, the room outside reeked of cigarette smoke, and puzzle pieces instantly connected in Stiles' brain.

He was so stupid. He knew they didn't go around leaving doors randomly unlocked in that place. No. The room they were in was unlocked for a reason. It had been unlocked by one of the few people who had keys to the building, and left unlocked for a specific purpose. It was here for Brunski to have a place to sneak off and smoke. Stiles had been foolish. He and Malia could never go there again.

—

"Good evening, Stiles," Morrell said warmly, as he settled into the chair opposite her desk. "How's your day going?"

Stiles didn't answer. He simply looked around the overtly bland and neat office, though there wasn't much to look at. Mostly empty grey walls, a black desk, with a black desktop computer perched off to the left. Hanging next to that were framed copies of her degrees and psychological certifications. There was a single, three tier filing cabinet with who knew what inside of it, an oak bookshelf filled with random titles, and one picture frame containing a photo of her brother, on the otherwise completely empty desk between Stiles and Morrell. There was nothing in the room that gave any indication of who Marin Morrell was. She sat calmly and quietly facing stiles in a black computer chair. He sat slouched across from her in a soft cushiony black arm chair.

"As good as it can in a place like this," Stiles finally mumbled, already ready to leave, even though he'd just sat down. He hated his sessions with Morrell almost as much as he hated the ones with Brunski. 

"And what do you mean by that?" she asked calmly, as if he hadn't just waited what had to have been at least half a minute to respond to her.

"I mean this place is drab and terrible," Stiles said pointedly, shrugging as if the answer should've been obvious. "I hate it here."

"Do you think your father was misguided?" she asked in that annoyingly soothing, calm voice she always used. Stiles could tell that it was fake, that she was forcing it. "Do you think he made a mistake leaving you in our care?" 

"Of course he did," Stiles mumbled. "Because there's nothing wrong with me." Stiles didn't like to think about his dad. Currently, he was number two on the list of people Stiles hated, nestled securely in between Brunski and Morrell. He hated the man for bringing him to this dreadful place. At least he'd had the decency to bring Stiles his pillow.

"Okay, Stiles." She smiled. But just like her and her entire office, it was bland, superficial. Stiles knew she didn't mean it. "Let's go over what we know. Correct me if I get anything wrong. Your name is Mieczysław Stilinski. Your father, Noah Stilinski, is Sheriff of Beacon Hills. After you told him everything there is to know about the supernatural phenomenons occurring in the city, he admitted you into this intuition due to concerns for your mental stability. 

"You told him that I and my brother Alan Deaton are both druid emissaries with a cover of high school counselor and veterinarian, respectively. The Hale house fire was arson committed by Kate Argent who is Chris Argent's sister. The two of them  _ and _ their family are werewolf hunters. They use Argent Arms International as a—"

"Why are you reciting what I know already?" Stiles interrupted irately, getting sick of hearing the overtly intentional calm of her voice. 

"Because it's good to lay the facts out, plain and clear." Morrell leaned forward with the most serious expression Stiles had seen since he'd come in. "We can then properly weed out the untruths and false beliefs."

"Look, just—just stop talking to me like that!" Stiles snapped angrily.

"Like what Stiles?" she asked using the annoying faux calm that only angered Stiles further.

"Like you think I'm crazy!" 

"Crazy is an ambiguous and abstract word used to demean and hurt people. I don't think you're crazy. I think you're a confused boy who needs help. You've been here for 3 months, Stiles. Since then you've talked with me twice a week and I have seen no progress.  _ You _ do the math on how many meetings we've had."

"Well that tells you about how good of a shrink you are, doesn't it?" Stiles practically snarled. 

"No, it tells me that you're not trying," she responded without skipping a beat. She spoke in that soothingly calm way that she did, even though Stiles had just insulted her practice and had been nothing but rude since he'd entered the room. "I can't help you if you don't want it." She peered over at him with the most disappointed look Stiles had ever seen on anyone. As if she'd had the highest expectations of him and he had let her down. 

For some reason that looked rubbed Stiles wrong.

"That's because there's nothing to help!" Stiles snapped. Morrell didn't even flinch. "I'm not crazy, and you're not gonna make me believe I am by repeating the same thing to me over and over again! Alright? Scott's gonna come and bust me out of this place  _ any _ day now and then he'll show all of you! He's coming!" He's coming.  _ He's coming. _ Stiles just had to keep telling himself that Scott was  _ coming _ , no matter how much he'd begun to doubt it.  _ Where the hell are you, Scott? _

Morrell's eyebrows scrunched in obvious frustration. It was rare that she let any real expression show during their meetings, so Stiles noticed it instantly. But it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. 

"I think that's enough for today Stiles," She smiled. "You may go."

Stiles didn't need telling twice. He didn't care that their thirty minute session had only lasted five. He quickly skitted away from the office before she could change her mind, closing the door behind him. In his adamant haste to escape, he walked right into Meredith. Again. 

"Oh my God—Meredith," he started sincerely. "I'm so sorry, I really need to start watching where I'm g—" but once again, he cut the apology short, when he realized she wasn't listening. This time, she stared blankly ahead with a white sheet wrapped snugly around her neck.

"Cold," she mumbled to herself, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself. "So cold…" 

"And Morrell's worried about me," Stiles mumbled, watching the girl's retreating form. " _ That's  _ who's crazy." Meredith slipped out the door at the end of the hall. 

With a nagging suspicion in the back of his head, Stiles impulsively followed her. Where was she  _ going?  _ He crept down the hall and out the same door, emerging on the stairwell where he caught a glimpse of her on the flight below him, before she went through the door to the second floor. She had taken the sheet from around her and tucked it under her arm instead. Evidently, she must have mysteriously warmed up. Stiles hurried down after her. 

When he reached the second floor landing, he peeped through the door and found her standing frozen outside of the open door of the spare beds room. Stiles dropped his jaw. Who  _ didn't  _ know about that room? She stood staring through the doorway, as if what she saw there had permanently petrified her.

"What—what are you doing here?" she asked in her small stammering voice, her obvious shock showing in her tone.

"Well, hello there." Brunski's tenor came from within the room just as shocked as Meredith's. "Come on in."

The girl squealed and hastily tried to escape back the way she came. She clearly hadn't been expecting to find Brunski waiting for her and he clearly hadn't been expecting to be interrupted. Still, he reached an arm out and tugged a terrified Meredith inside with him, closing the door behind them. 

Stiles promptly dashed out to stick his ear to the door. 

"What ya doing down here?" Brunski asked in the everpresent sickly kind voice he used. "Why do you have that sheet?" Stiles could practically hear the man's nasty grin. 

"I was cold," Meredith responded quietly, her voice shaking.

"Awww. Why don't let Brunski warm you up?" he asked suggestively.

"No. I just wanna go," she responded softly.

"No. Get back over here," he grunted.

"Please don't touch me," she begged. "Let me go! I'm gonna scream," Meredith threatened weakly, her voice laced with terror.

"Go ahead," Brunski chuckled darkly, the challenge clear in his tone. Stiles heard the sharp intake of breath from the girl. Then scuffling and a muffled scream. Brunski had evidently covered her mouth. There was more scuffling, a few grunts and then... Stiles couldn't believe he was witnessing this—

"Ahhhhhh, fuck yes…" Stiles heard the orderly hiss. 

Stiles' eyes bugged. That was it. Brunski had just inserted, he was in. He was raping her. Stiles had to do something!

But what could he do? He couldn't even stop the man from raping  _ him _ . How was he supposed to stop him from doing it to someone else?

"Oh my God, yes. Oh fuck…" Brunski moaned. 

_ Think, Stiles, think.  _ He couldn't just let this happen. Not to Meredith. She was so tiny and defenseless.

"Hmngh," the girl let out a sobbed moan. It sounded like her mouth was still covered.

"Go ahead and cry," Brunski chuckled. "I like it when you cry. Mnnnngh… and keep resisting like that. It just makes it even tighter..." Stiles personally knew how large Brunski's dick was. He had felt the stretch from it. Meredith was so  _ small,  _ so skinny. That big dick was probably destroying her little pussy. 

Stiles crouched lower, lying down to peer under the crack at the bottom of the door. From there, he could see them. Brunski had the girl forced onto her stomach on the floor with his heavy weight holding her down. Stiles could see the girl struggling under the man. He couldn't see their faces from this angle, but he knew that Meredith's was probably twisted in agony. 

What Stiles  _ could  _ see was their lower half. He saw their legs, how Meredith's scrub bottoms were still mostly secured around her waist, while Brunski's had been pulled half down his thighs, exposing the fuzzy mound that was the man's backside. He clearly hadn't been able to get her pants down properly. Most of her skin was still covered. But he'd evidently pulled them down enough. Just enough to get to what he wanted, because Stiles could see Brunski's round ass cheeks flexing with each inward thrust. He could tell that Brunski was getting in deep.

"Ahh… mngh, oh yeah… so fucking good," Brunski groaned. "God, I love this place." On the next stroke, he withdrew far enough that, for a split second, Stiles caught a glimpse of the man's thick shaft shining in vaginal juices before it plunged back into her. "Mnnnngh… ah." 

The girl continued to weep, while Brunski continued to moan and grunt and Stiles laid there frozen, peering under the door with wide eyes _ ,  _ watching Brunski grind his pelvis into the girl, hix ass cheeks flexing. _ Go ahead and cry. I like it when you cry,  _ the man had said. Which implied he had done this to her before.

He realized then than that he could really be stupid sometimes _.  _ Why was he so surprised? Of  _ course _ he wasn't the only person around here being raped by Brunski.  _ What, did he just suddenly become vile after my dad dumped  _ me _ here? _ Stiles thought. No. Brunski had clearly been getting away with violating the patients of Eichen for God knows how long. He was a monster. He would keep going, until someone strong enough to fight him came along, until someone stopped him.

Or… until someone _ caught  _ him. 

Morrell. Stiles needed Morrell. Instead of lying there, uselessly watching it happen, wasting precious time, he should be finding Morrell! Brunski was getting close to climax. Stiles recognized the increasing pitch of the man's tone. As quickly as he could without being heard, he shuffled to his feet and back to the doorway where he barreled up the stairs. He had to move and he had to move quickly, before Brunski got done.

He flew out onto the third floor, sliding a bit in the loafers that clearly weren't designed for running on linoleum, with two of Eichen's other patients watching him but not caring enough to intervene. As he thought about it, he realized that this  _ was  _ an asylum. They probably gave them shoes that weren't fit for running on purpose. Still, he bolted down the hall, slipping and sliding all the way, until he wrapped his hand around Morrell's locked office door.

"No!" Stiles slapped the door in frustration. "She was just here!"

"Hey, what's going on?" Oliver, asked curiously. Due to Stiles' lack of attention, the boy had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Oliver, where's Morrell?" Stiles asked urgently, gesticulating wildly.

"I don't—I don't know," the boy stammered. "I was coming out of the bathroom when I saw you barreling down the hall. Stiles what's—"

"She left for the day," Malia interrupted, stepping out of her room. "I just saw her head down the elevator a few minutes ago."

"No…" she had probably gone down while Stiles had his ear pressed to the door, completely unaware that one of her patients was being raped right under her nose. "I have to stop her!" He dashed back off to the stairwell, moving as fast as those pathetic loafers would allow. Frustrated, he kicked them off, snatching his socks off along with them. The linoleum was cold on his bare feet, but he was much quicker once he was no longer hindered. 

"Stiles what's going  _ on? _ " Malia asked, promptly following directly in behind. Clearly not wanting to be left out of the loop, Oliver followed him behind her.

"Brunski is downstairs in the spare beds room raping Meredith!" he explained in a rush, bolting back down the stairs. "I have to catch Morrell. I need to take her there, so she can see it, so she can catch him in the act." He burst out the stairwell door onto the main floor and into the atrium where the loud noise immediately caught the attention of Morrell from where she stood a few yards away, talking to the front desk receptionist. 

"Stiles?" she asked, as he rushed over to her, Oliver and Malia falling because of their shoes but still in tow. His urgent an upheavaled appearance instantly surprised and concerned Morrell. Stiles could see that it was real emotion, not the fake stuff that she forced in her office, but actual, genuine concern. "What's wrong? And where are your shoes?" 

"I took them off so that I could—just… Never mind," he pressed frantically, wrapping his hand tightly around her wrist. "You have to come with me. Right now!" He didn't wait for her to respond, he simply tugged her after him, her clacking heels echoing off the walls and slowing them down.

"What do you think you're doing, young man?!" the receptionist cried angrily, stepping out from behind the desk to assist Morrell. "Unhand her this instant!"

Stiles ignored the woman. He knew he couldn't just run amok all willy nilly, dragging the staff around. Honestly, he probably looked insane, but this was important, damnit! He didn't have time to stand around explaining things! He had probably already taken too long! Brunski could be climaxing! From the corner of his eye, he could see the receptionist dashing back around the desk for her walky talky, probably to page the orderly and tell him that one of the patients was manhandling the psychologist. 

_ No! Don't page Brunski!  _ Stiles thought as he tugged a surprisingly non-resistant Morrell onto the stairwell. He moved faster, his heart pounding from overexertion. Brunski and Meredith were on the second floor. He could beat the receptionist if that's who she was paging. Brunski wouldn't have time to pull his pants up and slip away. Stiles just had to  _ get there _ . He urgently tugged Morrell up the stairs, without any trouble from the woman. She didn't fight, she didn't struggle, and she didn't ask questions. She simply stared at Stiles with the same unyielding concern from downstairs, allowing the boy to drag her along, with Oliver and Malia tailing them.

They burst out onto the second floor moments later. There was the door, still closed. Brunski and Meredith were still in there. 

"There," Stiles told Morrell, pointing to the door as he tugged her along. "In here!" He turned the knob and the four of them spilled into the room to discover a weeping Meredith in the middle of the room, standing in a chair, putting a noose crafted of sheets around her neck, the other end already around the candelabra. 

Everyone froze.

"Meredith," Morrell said softly, releasing herself from Stiles' grip and delicately moving forward, as if any sudden movement would frighten the girl. "We've talked about this. This isn't the answer. I know you're hurting and—"

"No you don't," she sobbed. "You only know half of it. You don't know what he does to me. I was too scared to tell you."

"What  _ who  _ does to you, Meredith?" she asked, steadily creeping closer. "If you come down, you can tell me everything and I can help you."

"No you can't," she responded softly, the resolve clear in her eyes. "He's not gonna stop." And without another word, she kicked the chair out from under herself. Malia gasped—"Oh God!"—as Morrell instantly rushed over and uprighted the chair. She clambered up in her heels and hurriedly attempted to undo the sheets from the chandelier but was met by adamant opposition. She couldn't get close enough without Meredith clawing and kicking at her. 

"Meredith,  _ please _ !" Morrell shrieked hysterically after several failed efforts. Stiles rushed in to assist, wrapping his arms around her flailing legs so Morrell could move in. He received a face full of fingernails in response. 

"Argh, fuck!" he wailed in agony, somehow managing to keep a hold on her legs. Oliver swooped in and tugged the girls claws away from his flesh, and just when her face had begun to turn blue, just when the fight in her legs began to weaken, Morrell finally loosened the noose enough that Meredith dropped to the floor, taking Stiles down with her.

"Oh my God, Meredith…" She scrambled down from the chair and hovered over the girl as Stiles shimmied out from under her, crawling back to his feet. "Meredith?" Morrell frantically shook the unresponsive girl. "Meredith!" She swooped down, sticking her ear to the girl's chest. "Oh my god…" A hair band mysteriously appeared, probably from Morrell's pocket and she swiftly tied her hair back. 

Stiles had never seen CPR, not outside of movies. He watched that day. He, Malia, and Oliver stood by silently watching the woman solemnly perform compressions on the girls' body. "Come on, Meredith." More compressions. But. It didn't look like...

It was that moment that Brunski and another orderly barreled into the room looking frenzied. "Morrell," he huffed frantically. "Nancy told me that one of the—" but he cut short at the scene before him in shock. Morrell, kneeling over an unresponsive Meredith, the noose still around her neck, the candelabra swinging precariously with Stiles, Malia, and Oliver staying frozen nearby. Stiles could practically hear the man's thoughts screaming.  _ What the fuck? I was just in here and this is not how I left the place. _

"Brunski," she softly sighed, crawling up from the floor defeated. "Can you carry her to the infirmary for me please? I'll call her family."

"Of course," he answered, after a second of self collection. He swooped in and collected the girl's body in his sturdy arms, slipping out the door with Morrell in tow. She stopped in the doorway for a second, turning back to the three of them. 

"Thank you for coming to find me, Stiles. Had you not, I might've taken us days to find her." And with that, she slipped away behind Brunsk and the other orderly, leaving the three of them staring at each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Needless to say, the spare beds room was locked after the incident with Meredith. But if Stiles thought it would slow Brunski down, he was sadly mistaken. It was as if nothing had happened. It didn't phase the man that someone had committed suicide due to his anctions. He was the same vile person he always was, in fact, he slipped into Stiles' room and raped him again the very next night. And it was one of the longer ones, as if the man needed stress relief from earlier or something. Brunski made no haste to get done. He simply folded Stiles in half and took his sweet time, shoving his plump cockhead deep inside the teen. Stiles hated the slow fucks  _ so much.  _ They took forever and felt the best. 

"Has he ever done that to you, Oliver?" Stiles asked quietly, his gut filled with jizz after the man had finally left. In the months that Stiles had been there, it was something the two of them had never discussed. Oliver didn't answer. He simply laid there, silently watching the ceiling. The boy was quiet for so long, Stiles realized that he wasn't going to answer. Maybe this was why they'd never talked about it. Stiles was rolling over for sleep to take him when—

"He used to," Oliver responded placidly, still staring at the ceiling. "Sometimes he still does, but since you came, it's  _ super  _ rare." Oliver was quiet again, another long pause, so long, Stiles thought that bit of information was all he would get. Then—"He likes how I always lay still for him. You and I have that in common. But I don't get hard like you." Oliver paused again. Stiles waited. But that time, the pause was so long, sleep took Stiles before Oliver could respond again.

The next day, Stiles eavesdropped on a counseling session between Malia and Morrell. He didn't intend to do it. He'd simply been going back to his room from the bathroom when he heard his name quietly drift through the door as he passed the office.

"...with Stiles…" 

It'd been so quiet he couldn't even tell who it had come from. In Stiles' defense, he'd put forth a valiant attempt to keep walking. But they were talking about  _ him.  _ Maybe he would listen in for  _ juuust _ a second. Just to hear what the discussion was and then he would go on. Stiles clearly knew how to fool himself. Under the watchful eye of a passing patient, who evidently didn't care enough to intervene, he crouched down and put his ear to the door.

"...room feels empty without her," Malia said. "I keep thinking, what if we had gotten to her sooner? She might still be alive."

_ And we might've caught Brunski,  _ Stiles thought bitterly. It had been nagging at him how  _ close  _ they had been. How someone had  _ died  _ because he was too slow. But Morrell had a different view.

"The words 'what if' are the root of anxiety," Morrell said. "Dwelling on them will only cause grief and pain. And as happy as I am to hear that you care, we're getting off topic, Malia." Her tone suggested that she would not allow the conversation to be sidetracked. "We were talking about you and Stiles. You can't keep doing this to him." 

_ Doing this to him?  _ The words echoed in Stiles' brain as he pressed his ear closer to the door.  _ Now _ they were getting to what he was eavesdropping for. 

"Why?" Malia asked sharply. "He's not hurting anyone. Sure he's a little weird but I really like him. I think… Actually, I think I love him." She pause for a second, conveniently giving Stiles time to think. 

Love? Malia loved him? A warm tingling feeling swelled in Stiles' chest as he let the reality of that sink in. He was searching his emotions for reciprocated feelings when she spoke again. He would have to ponder his feelings for her later. He had to listen now. 

"Meredith had been collecting those sheets for months," she said, a swift change of pace. "She told me. She'd been slowly hiding them, one at time, day by day. She didn't say why and I didn't ask. But now I know. She was taking them to that room, and making the noose, sheet by sheet. Is it my fault that she committed suicide? Because I didn't say anything?" 

"Hmmm," Morrell responded softly, as if that wasn't startling information. " _ Very _ nice try, Malia. That is insightful and I thank you for sharing it with me. It's definitely something that needs to be discussed further, but right now, we're discussing _ you _ and  _ Stiles. _ No, he's not hurting anyone, but you're assisting him with hurting  _ himself _ . 

"I've been told by Dr. Fenris to stop the two of you from seeing each other, but he doesn't see what I do. I believe what you and Stiles have is  _ good  _ for the both of you. It's against Eichen policy, yes, but  _ good _ . You genuinely make each other happy and that's not something I want to take away. But if you continue on the path you're on, l'll be forced to separate you. Because he's  _ more  _ than weird, Malia. He's—"

"What are you doing?" that cold voice chuckled, grabbing him by the collar. Fuck. Stiles should really start paying more attention to his surroundings.

"No let me—I need to listen—they're talking about me!" Stiles futilely struggled against the strong man's grip as he dragged him away.

"I don't care what they're talking about and you shouldn't either. Because counseling sessions are confidential," he said with exaggerated reprehension, as if he were talking to a small child. "And you know that."

"Okay, okay," Stiles grunted, still struggling with the man's grip as he tugged them down the hall. "I get it. Now let me go."

"Oh no, no. I can't do that," he said darkly, slipping Stiles into his and Oliver's room. "Bad boys need to be punished." Brunski closed the door behind them, grinning in such a nasty way, Stiles knew this was about to be bad.

"Get on your knees," was Brunski's first command.

For a second, Stiles simply stared at the man. They locked eyes, and Stiles could almost read Brunski's mind.  _ I'm ready to fight if you are. _ Against everything in his being, Stiles huffed and slowly knelt before Brunski. 

"Atta boy," the man chuckled, grinning down at Stiles with those stupid dimples. "Keep going. You know what you do."

With clenched teeth and forced will, Stiles gripped the band of the orderly's scrub bottoms and tugged downwards. First, the wiry brown hairs that were the man's pubes came into view, and as Stiles continued to tug, inch by inch of his long, thick, veiny, disgusting cock came into view, until it popped free from the waistband of the bottoms, already at half mast. Brunski pushed his hips forward a bit to poke Stiles' tightly closed lips with his fat cockhead. 

Brunski smiled patiently. "Go on." Despite everything his brain currently told him to do, Stiles parted his lips. Being sure to keep his teeth out of the way, he gently took the wide tip of the cock into his mouth, letting the head rest on his tongue while he wrapped his lips tightly around the girth of it.

Stiles almost gagged. Simply from the taste of it. Sure he had done this before, but repeating the action didn't make it any better. After a small moment of self collection, Stiles eased his way down the shaft bit by bit, feeling the heat of it graze across his tongue as the plump head touched the back of his mouth before it slid into his throat and Stiles had to stop. He could only take half of it before he felt the urge to gag. Evidently half was enough, because a deep, guttural moan hit his ears from above.

"Mngh… yeah…" Brunski sucked a shuddering breath through his teeth as Stiles drew back on the dick while sucking it like a straw at the same time. That action elicited another sharp moan from the man. "Nnnghah, fuck."

Stiles slid down once more, feeling the warmth of the heavy rod on his tongue again. He could feel it pulsing. This time when he felt the cockhead at the back of his mouth, he relaxed his throat and slowly let it slide down a bit taking a few more inches of shaft inside and drawing a string of moans from Brunski.

"Mnnghaaunnn, God…" Stiles kept going, making himself to talk more, forcing himself to not gag. He watched the inches slowly slide in, as he felt the head pushing its way down his throat, with Brunski moaning all the while. Stiles wanted to take the entire shaft. He wanted to wrap his lips around the base of it just to prove to Brunski that he could. Be that it may, Stiles was evidently going to slow. Before Stiles knew it was happening, Brunski abruptly laced his fingers into the hairs at the back of Stiles' head, latched on tightly, and shoved the boy down the rest of the way. 

It was too fast. Stiles was unprepared. He gagged. And Brunski clearly didn't care. With his strong, firm, unfightable grip, he held Stiles in place, despite the boy's ardent struggles. 

"Ah fuck yeah…" the man groaned, still holding his cock deep down Stiles throat. Stiles could feel his eyes watering. He could feel the pubic hairs against his lips, under her nose, giving him a strong whiff of the heavy, masculine scent of the man. He couldn't breath. Brunski was choking him on the dick. Stile could do nothing but think cock, cock, dick, cock, air, cock, until—

Brunski finally released him and Stiles swiftly pulled back, gasping for air, a string of slob connecting his lips to Brunski's fat, swollen dick head. 

"Get up," Brunski growled at him, staring down at Stiles with hunger in his eyes. "Get up and get in the bed on your hands and needs, facing the wall."

Stiles silently obeyed. Against his better judgement, he knelt in the bed leaving Brunski standing behind him. After what had just happened, it went against everything in Stiles' nature to turn his back on the man, but did it. When Brunski snatched Stiles' bottoms down his thighs, the boy knew that it was about to be rough. There would  _ certainly  _ be no fighting his moans this time. He heard the sound of Brunski spitting, then he felt wet fingers on his hole. Two of those fingers unceremoniously entered Stiles, making him hiss, before sharply popping back out. Then Stiles felt the blunt cockhead again his hole and—

"...mnnnghaa… fuck," Stiles moaned. There it was, that glorious feeling that he hated and loved at the same time and Stiles was instantly hard. He felt the man calloused hands tightly grip his waist as the cock stretched him, filling him up with one long stroke. The initial insertion was the only thing gentle. Just as Stiles had predicted, Brunski pulled out and slammed back in, rocking Stiles in the bed. If the frame weren't bolted to the floor like almost everything in the building, it would've smacked into the wall.

"Argh!" Stiles cried. And it was the only one he was able to let out. Brunski immediately cupped a hand over the boy's mouth to silence him as he pulled out and slammed in again, and again, and again. If Stiles' yells weren't muffled, someone would have certainly heard him. Brunski was pulverizing him and fuck it felt  _ amazing.  _ Stiles hated the man so much for making him feel so good.

One thing he could fortunately say about brutal fucks: they never lasted long. After maybe half a minute in, tops, Stiles was spilling all over the sheets under him without anyone even touching his cock, with several warm ropes of jizz shooting inside him moments later. It had to be the quickest encounter he and Brunski had ever had, and honestly, Stiles was damn sure glad about it. Brunski pulled out with a soft squelching sound, giving Stiles a single, rough smack on the ass before he tucked himself back in. 

" _ Damn,  _ that's a good hole," he huffed, wiping the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hands. Then, without another word, he exited the room, leaving Stiles completely and utterly debauched, just like he always did.

—

It was sunny the next morning. Malia and Stiles were lounging in some lawn chairs out on the patio, one of the few places they were permitted to freely go and Stiles was contemplating how to approach the conversation he'd overheard Malia having with Morrell,  _ if  _ he should approach it all because that would mean he would have to admit he'd been eavesdropping. But he wanted to know what Malia was supposed to be doing to him. Whatever it was, it was so serious, Morrell had been told by the doctor to keep them apart. 

Stiles ran through everything he and Malia had done in the months they'd been together, trying to find something incrementing, but his thoughts kept coming back blank. Malia had never done anything to hurt him. He peered over at the girl lounging next to him. She reached over to wrap her fingers in his and it was as if the warm smile on her face was talking to him. _ It doesn't matter that I'm locked up in here. As long as I'm with you, I'm happy.  _

Stiles was confident that this girl would  _ never  _ do anything to hurt him, at least not on purpose. So what had Morrell been talking about? 

"What's the frown for?" she asked curiously. "What are you thinking about?"

Stiles only frowned harder. How would she respond to having her counseling session overheard? Stiles wouldn't want anybody listening to  _ his. _

"It's just… yesterday I was going—"

"Well look who it is." Uugh. That disgusting voice. There was absolutely nowhere they could go to avoid him. 

"Do you mind?" Stiles said with cordial sarcasm. "We were kinda having a conversation here." He knew the snarkiness wouldn't do him any good but he just couldn't help himself. He hated Brunski  _ so damn much.  _

"You're always such a wise guy," Brunski chuckled, looming down over them. "And I always shut you up, don't I?"

Stiles' eyes promptly darted around for an escape, when he knew there was only one. The patio was fenced in by yards of 10 foot steel bars. Brunski was standing between them and the only way out, the doorway back into Eichen. Before either of them could move, Brunski had them by the collars and was manhandling them back inside.

"Hey!" Stiles snapped, immediately struggling in the man's impossible grip. "We're allowed to be out here! We're not doing anything wrong!" Brunski pointedly ignored him, adding to Stiles' fury. "Let us go!" In response, Brunski simply tugged them through the patio door that led back into the institution, opening another door in the hallway directly behind it and shoving them through it where they barely managed to prevent themselves from tumbling down a flight of stairs.

Stiles peered around the dark, dusty space he'd suddenly found himself in and instantly connected it to a basement. Brunski had thrown them into the basement, a door that was perpetually locked. This was  _ definitely  _ off-limits for them. But Brunski simply stepped inside the door with his evil grin, closing and locking it behind himself, shutting them off in the space together. From the top of the stairs, he glared down to where they'd caught themselves halfway down the stairs.

"I've been trying to find the time to talk to you since I saw you sneaking out of the storage room," he said conversationally and he slowly descended the stairs. The two teens locked their eyes on Brunski. With each step he took, they took a step backwards, keeping themselves away from him, but pushing themselves further down the stairs and into the basement while doing so. "And before you say anything,  _ yes, _ I saw you sneaking out of the storage room. You two have to be smarter than that." He chuckled as Stiles and Malia simply peered at each other. "Now that I finally have you alone, I gotta ask. Why didn't you tell me you're a couple?"

_ Seriously? You brought us down here to interrogate our relationship? You're an idiot for not figuring it out before,  _ Stiles thought.  _ It's not our fault you're conveniently unobservant.  _ But he didn't say that of course.  __

"You two are so adorable," Brunski continued in the creepy friendly manner. "I want the three of us to have some fun together. The sofa over there's relatively comfortable and we're—"

"There's two of us and one of you," Malia snapped defiantly, though Brunski was still slowly stepping towards them, and they were still blindly backing away. For a second the three of them were silent, with Brunski simply staring at her in awe, as if he were shocked she had the audacity to speak.

"True. Very true," he quietly said after a moment. He stopped progressing. So they stopped retreating. "But I'm twice your size, I'm stronger than both of you put together, and on top of that," he dug around in his pocket until he came out with a small rectangular black object. "I also have a taser." He stared at her darkly, crackling the device, making both of them jump. "Don't interrupt me when I'm talking. Ever."

Well that was definitely new. Stiles would've remembered seeing that before. Where did he even get it? Certainly Eichen staff wasn't permitted to carry those. Brunski abruptly grinned the widest, dimplyest grin Stiles had ever seen on the man. 

"Now here's what's going to happen," he cheerfully sighed, promptly switching back to the jovial guy he'd been before Malia interrupted him as he dropped the taser back into his pocket. He pointed to a shabby sofa behind them that Stiles hadn't noticed. They had evidently been backing right up to where Brunski wanted them to go. "You two are gonna lie down on this couch and you're gonna fuck." He smiled at them as if Christmas had come early, speaking bluntly and clearly. "While I watch, telling you exactly what I want to see. It's gonna be awesome! Well, at least it will be for me," he amended.

Stiles and Malia looked at each other again, seeing the trepidation in each other's eyes. Should they try to run? He was still standing between them and the only known exit. "Go on," Brunski said, gesturing to the sofa with a shooing motion when they didn't move. Timidly, the two of them lowered themselves onto the sofa, a solid 2 feet in between them.

"No, no," Brunski chuckled, as if he were reprimanding small children. He gestured to the space between them. "You're gonna have to get closer than." With a quick glance at each other, the two of them scooted it in until their legs touched.

"Good," Brunski said, that dimpled smile still in place as it had been since they had gone down there. Stiles didn't understand how the man's cheeks hadn't started hurting yet from maintaining it for so long. "Let's start out simple. Why don't you two kiss for me? Hmm?" After peering at the lump in Brunski's pocket that was the taser, Stiles turned to look Malia in the eyes. 

_ Let's just do this _ , the eyes said timidly.  _ We'll pretend he's not there.  _ She leaned in first, slowly, with Stiles reluctantly coming in behind her, until their lips met. It was just skin touching and moving, nothing serious. Still, he stood there, letting them press their lips together for a second before he gave them further instruction.

"Now add some tongue…" he continued. Malia parted her lips, letting Stiles' tongue slide in and control hers. They danced in each other's mouth.

"Yeah… now you're kissing…" Brunski grunted, to which Stiles peeped an eye open and glanced over to find that, at some point, the man had started groping himself. If simply kissing was getting that reaction from him, Stiles wasn't looking forward to what would happen when he forced them to actually fuck. 

"Okay now, push her back and ease between her legs." Without parting lips, Malia leaned back instead, pulling Stiles atop her where he comfortably nestled himself between her legs. "Yeah… Grind into her." Fuck, Stiles had been about to do that anyway. With her tongue on his and their warm bodies pressing together, his dick was coming to life. He gave a single grind into her, and it was almost like someone had turned the heat up down there. 

"Mngh…" she moaned into his mouth. Another grind and she inherently arched her back from the sofa.

"Yeah…" Brunski grunted. Stiles cracked his eyes again, glancing over to find the man finally breaking down and pulling his cock free to touch it properly. After wetting his palm with several good licks he wrapped it around his length and gave them more instruction. "Move your lips to her neck." Stiles obeyed, kissing a line from her clavicle to her ear as he ground down into her.

"Oh my God…" she moaned softly, gasping a sharp gasp.

"Stand up, both of you," he said swiftly and abruptly. The sudden severity in his tone startled them, making both of them jump, just as they had when he'd cracked the taser. It was a tangle of wild limbs for a second, but the two of them managed to get back on their feet, looking at the floor, or the ceiling, the walls. Anything that wasn't Brunski's disgusting face.

"Undress him," he told Malia, a slight edge of eagerness in tone. Stiles took the quickening pace of the hand on his cock as a sign that the man was ready to see some real action. Stiles took a steadying breath of preparation as Malia's fingers found the hem of his shirt.

They didn't make it sexual or seductive in any kind of way. Sure this was a show for Brunski, but they could try their hardest to not make it a good one. He simply lifted his arms for her to pull his shirt over his head as he kicked his feet free of the loafers. The cool air hit his nipples making them hard. Then, after tossing the shirt to the side, she pulled his pants and underwear down in one swift tug, making his half mast cock bounce a few times. She unwrapped the garments from around his ankles, tossing them to the side as well and that was that. 

When she straightened back up, giving him the complete one over in the process, Stiles realized that this was the first time she had seen him completely naked and it was at the request of Brunski. Stiles scowled. That bastard had ruined something that was supposed to be precious for them. His cock wilted. The knowledge didn't seem to face Malia though. By this point, she was a stoic robot, following computer commands. 

"Okay, now you do her." Once again, it was not seductive. Malia dutifully raised her arms, allowing him to remove her shirt, her ample breast bouncing slightly in the bra as he did so. Then she turned, and motionlessly let him unfasten the latches of the bra until it fell from her chest and he threw it aside. Without a word she turned back around, giving him— _ and  _ fucking  _ Brunski _ —his first sight of her breast.

They were everything he'd imagine they'd be, pert and tight I'm her youth. Gloriously pink nipples in the center of dark areolas. Stiles wanted to lick them. He could feel his cock stirring again. 

"I know they're pretty," Brunski chuckled, "but keep going."

Aaaand his irritating voice ruined the moment. Stiles' cock promptly wilted at the sound of it. He sighed. If only he could get it to do that when the man was touching him. Stiles tugged her pants and panties off just as swiftly as she had done his, and they were both naked. Whether it was for their benefit or his own—probably the latter—Brunski allowed them a short moment to take each other in. Malia couldn't seem to get enough of Stiles. Her eyes were all over him. He could practically  _ see  _ her pussy salivating for him. 

Stiles, however, couldn't properly ogle Malia for scowling at Brunski. It burned the boy that he had to share his first time seeing Malia's glory with that bastard. The way he eyed her naked body, the body that belonged to Stiles, made the boy's lip curl. Brunski had seen Stiles naked before. And even if he hadn't, they were both men. It was completely different for him to look at Malia. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her. 

"You," he said, gesturing to Malia, "lie down." Malia promptly obeyed, flopping down in a heap, spreading her legs for what she knew was coming. This is when Scott properly looked at it, all fuzzy and expecting. His dick began to harden again. "You," he continued, still languidly stroking his dick. "Eat it."

Stiles' head snapped over at him.  _ What?  _ Stiles had never done that before. What if he did it wrong? He didn't even know what he was supposed to do. Did he just lick it? Certainly 'eating it' was just an expression, right? He wasn't supposed to actually bite it? No. Stiles was certain that wouldn't feel very good. Sensing his hesitation, Brunski groped the taser in his pocket before he repeated himself, while he dug a pack of cigarettes and lighter from his other pocket. " _ Eat. It.  _ I'm not gonna say it again." 

Stiles' jaw tightened.  _ Fine! You fucking bastard!  _ To manage it, he had to ball himself up in a weird way between her legs to get his face down there because the couch wasn't quite long enough for the position. Brunski lit one of the cigarettes up, puffing while he pumped his dick, watching them. He moved away from the wall, stepping closer to see properly, standing directly beside Stiles, peering over the boy's shoulder at the girls dripping cunt. Her snatch was slightly fuzzy because the institution didn't give them razors so Stiles awkwardly parted her lips to see what he was doing (because maybe that was a good idea? He was completely clueless how to proceed) and his breath left his lungs in a short huff because,  _ wow,  _ it was stunning in there. 

It was so pink and pretty. Everything looked so  _ wet _ , like someone had rubbed glycerin on it to make it shine. Her vaginal hole was practically leaking her juices and the little clit above just looked so damn decadent. Stiles leaned in eagerly for a taste. When his mouth found her, she sucked in a sharp breath, even though he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Stiles pointed his tongue and stuck it inside, licking around in circles just to see what it was like in there. 

"Mngh…" she moaned, twitching a bit. So Stiles did it again. He pressed his mouth tighter, attempting to get his tongue as deep into her as possible while rolling it around. "...sssss, oh God…" She reached down, carding her fingers through his hair. Keeping her lips parted with his thumb and forefinger, Stiles moved up to her little clit, thinking maybe he should give that some attention. 

He licked the little nub experimentally, once, twice—"Mngh, Stiles!"—eliciting a sharp cry from her. So he waggled it back and forth with the tip of his tongue, bringing his other hand in on the action. He wanted to feel it's wetness, to feel if it was as slick as it looked. He stuck his two longest fingers in, rubbing around and sharply thrusting the two fingers in and out of her as he caught the little nub between his tongue and upper lip. He sucked it.

"Oh my God, Stiles, hmngh, yes…" She whimpered, squirming ecstatically. Well, apparently, a guy didn't need to know what he was doing. He just had to wiggle his tongue and lick it. And Stiles was discovering that he sure enjoyed doing it. He was just getting into it, thinking that maybe he could suck on her hot cunt forever when—

"Alright. Time for the good stuff," Brunski grunted lasciviously. Oh, yeah. Right. Stiles had almost forgotten the bastard was there, he'd been quiet for so long. "Get yourself hard, then get up there and let me watch you fuck her."

Well, having his fingers squeezed by Malia's sopping cunt already had him throbbing, so that step wasn't necessary. Which only left… Stiles crawled up her body between her legs. He was so hard, he didn't even have to line himself up. He simply angled his hips in the right direction and—

"Mngh, Stiles…" she whimpered as he slid smoothly into place. Stiles released a short huff of air as he promptly set a swift pace inside her, rocking his hips back and forth to get his cock in and out. Stiles hated that Brunski was there, that he was facilitating the encounter, but that didn't make him enjoy the pleasure of it any less. Because this had to be the best sex they'd ever had. 

They weren't cramped in a closet. They could actually move and clutch at each other and be noisy. Their naked skin was touching and Malia's hands were everywhere while he fucked her. In his hair, on his flexing ass, on his arms, down his sides… it seemed she didn't know what part of him she wanted to touch the most. But Stiles' focus was on getting his cockhead as deep as he possibly could inside of her.

"Alright, switch up," Brunski huffed, his cock swollen and red. "I want you to sit in his lap. Facing me." Stiles emitted a soft huff. Just when he'd been getting into it… There was another jumble of limbs while they shifted themselves into the position requested until Malia let out another moan when she sank onto Stiles, her back pressing into his chest.

From the new angle Brunski had a clear view of the show. He could directly see Stiles' cock piercing her wet center, splitting the lips open and forcing its way in. He could see her tight walls gripping the appendage as it slid in and out of her. Malia reached down to frantically rub her clit while Stiles erratically jerked his hips up into her. 

"Mngh, Stiles… I'm gonna come.. I'm gonna—ahhhh!" He felt her walls contract around him as thrusted faster, fucking her through the climax. She rocked her slim fingers against her clit so fiercely, it looked like the friction might possibly be painful. Her legs twitched as she spasmed and screamed until she collapsed her weight attop Stiles, huffing long, deep breaths.

"That was hot as fuck," Brunski chuckled, stroking his fat cock as a bit of precum leaked from the tip. He scrubbed the butt of his cigarette out and flicked it off somewhere. "Now it's my turn."

Stiles' face darkened. What? That's not what he'd said. He said he wanted to watch…

"You look like you're down for now, sweetums," Brunski said, the pet name sounding like an insult coming from him. "Why don't you come over here and watch?" Though it came out as a question, his tone made it clear that it was a command. With wobbling legs and without any words, Malia withdrew herself from Stiles and stumbled over to the wall where she flopped her naked body down on the floor, despite the profuse amount of dust. She rested her back against the wall, taking deep, steadying breaths, and looking completely and utterly spent. 

Stiles blanched. Because that left him alone with Brunski. And that meant… The man grinned, making his way over to the couch as Stiles' cock wilted. No…

"Get this cock wet," Brunski told Stiles as he settled in next to the boy on the sofa. With wide eyes, Stiles stared over to where Malia sat on the dirty floor against the wall. Stiles knew where this was going. Brunski was gonna fuck him. Sure she was aware that Brunski made him do this, but watching it happen? She didn't know how Brunski's cock made Stiles moan, no matter how hard he fought it. She didn't know how much he liked it, no matter how much he hated it at the same time. Having her watch would be completely  _ mortifying _ .

It was then that Stiles broke the silence he had unintentionally held since coming down there. For the first time since the unfortunate day Stiles had met Brunski, he begged. "Brunski," he whispered, peering at the man with pleading eyes. "Not in front of her. Please _. _ "  _ Don't make me do this. Don't humiliate me, please.  _ In response, Brunski pulled the taser out of his pocket and laid it on the sofa seat next to him, as if to remind Stiles that it was still present. Then, with that everpresent grin, he pointed to his cock.

Stiles set his jaw and crawled into the floor between the man's legs. He could do this. He'd done it before. Sure Malia was sitting there watching him, but Stiles would be… Well, he would just have to try to ignore that part. Stiles gazed at the huge angry looking cock before him, throbbing and veiny. He could do it. Stiles delicately reached forward and took the dick into his hand. It was hot and pulsing under his palm and he knew it would feel the same in his mouth. He leaned in and wrapped his lips around the tip to go ahead and get it over with and Brunski hissed when his wet mouth found the fat cockhead. 

Stiles started out slow, like he always did on the occasions Brunski wanted to be lazy. He took the shaft into his mouth, feeling the heat radiating as it went deeper. It was much easier this time. Brunski didn't force Stiles on it. In fact, he sat there quite still, letting Stiles do all of the work, which… of  _ course.  _ He  _ wanted  _ Stiles to do all of the work. Because Malia was watching. He didn't want to watch Malia watch her boyfriend get facefucked. He wanted to watch her watch her boyfriend suck dick. 

The sadistic bastard. He wanted to humiliate Stiles. With that thought, Stiles' mind inadvertently skimmed forward to what was about to come as he languidly bobbed on the dick. The impending sex was about to be really bad—or really  _ good,  _ depending on how he looked at it—for him because he knew that Brunski would do everything he could to make Stiles moan for Malia. And he was gonna make Stiles moan  _ loud. _

Stiles doubled his efforts with the blow job. He wanted to make it as good as possible for Brunski, thinking, if the man was enjoying himself he wouldn't want to stop. It was a stretch, but hey Stiles could hope, right? At least he would prolong the inevitable. Hell, maybe Stiles might even get him to come before they could get there.

Fat chance. Sure, Brunski enjoyed it. He was sitting there completely relaxed getting his dick sucked. What was there to not enjoy? But that didn't deter the man's plans, and Stiles was foolish for hoping.

"Mmnngh, as good as your mouth feels," Brunski moaned, smiling down at the lips wrapped around his dick, "I know your tight ass is gonna feel better. Get up here in my lap, facing me."

Stiles popped off the dick, holding his chin high as he climbed up and wrapped his legs around a man's waist, settling neatly into his lap. He gripped the back of the sofa for support and turned his head away from Malia in shame. He couldn't look at her anymore. With a dark chuckle, Bronski promptly reached around him and slipped an index finger inside, making Stiles tense, his cock instantly springing to life. Stiles wouldn't moan. He would  _ not  _ moan. He fought as hard as he had ever fought, he could feel his face reddening from the effort of it, as Brunski slipped the finger in and out of him a few times. 

But of course, it was as if Brunski knew he was fighting and he knew where Stiles' button was. He slipped the second finger inside and curled both of them to find the little knot and Stiles came undone.

"Mmnngh my fucking God!" Aaaand that was it. He would never be able to look Malia in the eyes again. He had been mostly quiet since they'd left the patio, but he knew that was about to change.

"You keep your eyes open, over there," Brunski said darkly, making Stiles fight back tears because, yes, Malia was definitely watching. Of all the times Brunski had done this to him, he'd never cried. So, even though this was completely degrading, he sucked the tears back, refusing to let them shed. 

Brunski violated him much longer than he normally would have simply to humiliate styles in front of Malia. And try as he may, Stiles couldn't fight the moans. He twitched and squirmed, whimpering and trembling in the man's lap making the fingers go deeper while clenching his eyes shut and in shame, his dick harder than nails. Then, without words or warning, the man pulled his fingers free, lined the blunt head, and pushed in. Stiles sharply gasped—"Ahh!"—when it suddenly breached him, not from pain or pleasure but sheer astonishment. 

Then, once he was in, Brunski sat stock still, smiling cruelly at Stiles and the boy instantly knew that Brunski wanted  _ him  _ to do all the work. Brunski wanted Malia to watch Stiles fuck himself on his fat cock. Stiles glared at the orderly in fury, while lowering himself onto the long dick. He gave it to himself easy and it felt so fucking  _ good _ .

What was worse, from this angle, Malia could see everything. Stiles was sure that was Brunski's intention. He wanted Malia to be able to see the fat dick spreading Stiles pert ass cheeks and stretching his hole to impossible limits. Brunski wanted her to see his cock being devoured whole. And it was that thought that did it for Stiles. Fine. If Brunski wanted Stiles to do all of the work, _fine_. But this going to be a slow fuck. Sure, the slow fucks lasted forever, but Stiles could better control his moans.

Fat chance. Brunski may have wanted Malia to watch Stiles ride his fat dick, but evidently, his desire for her to hear the boy's loud vocal pleasure was greater. Stiles was only able to sink himself onto the dick gently three more times while methodically breathing deeply through his nose in an effort to contain any noise, only able to let the girthy appendage force his tiny orifice to accommodate thrice now more, before Brunski took control and slammed up into him.

"Ahgh! Fuck," Stiles cried in mortifying ecstacy. Brunski didn't cover his mouth this time. He let the pleasured screams fill the open space. The basement was too far away from everything for anybody to hear. Brunski pulled out and slammed in again.

"Oh, shit!" Stiles trembled in the man's laps as his ass cheeks jiggled from the impact. After that, Brunski set a brutal unforgiving pace, pounding up into Stiles' hole. "Oh my God, mngn… nggh… ahhhh… fuuuuck…" he moaned a constant string of humiliating moans as Brunski repeatedly impaled him with the long thick dick over and over again. 

"Arch your back," he grunted. Stiles obeyed, putting the requested dip in his lower back and changing the angle of the cock inside of him as it constantly stabbed and the shift sent him to new heights.

"Oh my god!" 

"Yeah. I can feel your ass clenching. You're about to come aren't you? Go on and bust for me. Let your girl see how hard you always come on my dick." 

"Mnngh…" Stiles whined, mortified, because Brunski was right, he was getting close. Brunski swiftly pulled his shirt up and tucked it under his chin to hold it out of place to prevent Stiles from soiling it. Then he reached back and gripped Stiles' plump ass cheeks. He pulled them apart, giving Malia an ever better view of the happenings between them and stuck his head around Stiles' side while he slammed up into the boy.

"Look at that," he said to Malia lewdly. "Look at how my big cock is splitting your boy open." Though he couldn't see her behind him, he heard a grunt of disapproval come from the girl as confirmation that she could indeed see exactly how his hole was being used. She received a dark chuckle from the man in response. "He loves it," Brunski continued, grunting and smacking sharply into Stiles. "Your boy's a little pussy bitch that likes taking dick." And as if to confirm those foul words, a long involuntary moan escaped from Stiles.

"Hmmmmnnmmaaggghhh…" Right on cue. And on top of that, Stiles' untouched cockhead was leaking a steady thin stream of precum while he rode the man.

"See?" Brunski chuckled. "Here. Watch him come for me." And with that, Brunski wrapped a hand around Stiles' aching cock and gave a single pump. That was all the boy needed. Stiles spewed like a fountain.

"Hargh, fuck!" The thick, heavy white fluid burst from Stiles, splattering into the happy trail on Brunski's exposed stomach. The thick rod inside the boy milked him. Multiple ropes shot out as the man fucked him through the orgasm, with Stiles whining throughout the entire ride. When he was done, sitting in the man's lap huffing with the hard dick still resting deep inside him, Brunski scooped jizz from his stomach with his thumb and held the oozing finger before Stiles. 

"Open your mouth," he whispered. Stiles didn't even have the energy to think properly let alone fight. He obediently parted his lips and Brunski popped the thumb in, rubbing the salty fluid around inside. "Atta boy," he said, giving Stiles' ass a smack when he was done. "You can go over and rest next to your girl now."

Just as lazily as Malia had, Stiles climbed down from the man's lap and slumped over to the wall, but he turned his head away, still not looking at her. 

"Alright, Malia you've had enough rest," Brunski said. "Come sit on my dick and finish me off."

What?  _ No! _ This just kept getting worse! She couldn't do that with him! He couldn't do that to her! Stiles kept eyeing the taser still lying next to Brunski. If only he didn't have it. They might stand a chance… Without words and with a steel face, Malia obediently made her way over to the sofa. Then, with a forced expression of stoicism, she reluctantly straddled the man hips in the same position Stiles had. Trembling in fury, and completely unable to stop it, Stiles watched the man's initial insertion. The blunt cockhead vanished first, then, inch by long inch, the wide shaft vanished inside as well, until Brunski was completely buried in her with Malia sitting in his lap.

"Ahh, yeah," Brunski moaned. "There it is." He promptly gripped her waist, guiding her up and down his length. Malia remained calm and silent to which Brunski commented. "I love how tough you are, girl. Always so good for me. Meredith cried, but not you."

How could he callously toss her name about? Like he hadn't caused the girl to kill herself? And Always so good? Stiles let the words seep in. That sounded like… Was he implying…? Had he done this to her before? For the first time since he'd sucked Brunski's cock down there, Stiles tried to catch Malia's eye, but the way she shamefully refused to let him by turning her head away answered his question. Yes, Brunski had done this before and the man had just exposed her secret. He looked up and saw the shock in Stiles' eyes and instantly connected the dots, his nasty grin growing broader than Stiles had ever seen it.

"You didn't know did you?" He chuckled while he thrusted into Malia. Stiles watched the thick cock stretch her pussy open in ways that his never made it do. "She didn't tell you? Haha this is too good! Priceless! I never expected this! Stiles, buddy, I've been beating this pussy up ever since she got here. Two, three times a week!"

Stiles looked to Malia, begging her to deny it with his eyes, but she still wouldn't look at him. Brunski laughed, and kept slapping into her. On each withdrawal, the man's hefty shaft was revealed, where Stiles could see it glistening from Malia's slick vaginal juices, before it swiftly vanished inside her again, giving Stiles a constant view/not-view of the shiny dick.

"Nnnmgh, so fucking good. Almost as good as your tight ass, but not quite. Still, the best pussy I've ever had, this girl is. She usually puts up a good fight, but I guess she's not stupid enough to do that when I—"

"Shut up," Stiles mumbled. 

"—have a weapon," he cruelly continued, completely ignoring the boy. "She's always so tight and wet for me, and always—"

"Shut up," Stiles said louder.

"—so responsive. So  _ feisty _ . She always takes me so—"

"SHUT UP!" Stiles wailed, to which Brunski only laughed, sounding almost identical to a villain from an old superhero movie. Then, without breaking eye contact with Stiles, he suddenly stopped and lifted her off of him, dropping her on the sofa next to him like a discarded sex toy. 

"I've got a better idea," he grinned, still peering at Stiles. "Just because you're so laughably pissed, I want you to come over here and share my dick with your girl." 

Stiles was steaming like an overfull pot of boiling water. And the boy's anger seemed to only amuse the man because he chuckled darkly, beckoning Stiles over with his palm. "Get back over here and suck my dick, or I'm gonna tase the shit out of her."

Trembling in rage, Stiles crawled back over between the man's parted legs with Brunski glaring down at him smugly.  _ Don't bite his dick, Stiles,  _ the boy told himself.  _ Don't. It'll do you more bad than good.  _

"Now you get down there next to him," Brunski told Malia. She silently obeyed, climbing down to kneel next to Stiles before the man, forcing the two of them to catch eyes for a second. Stiles saw complete and utter shame before she looked away again. Brunski picked up the taser and held it tightly in his hand, as a solid, electrical reminder that Stiles' anger was fruitless.

"Now suck my dick," Brunski said darkly. Though everything in Stiles was telling him to punch the man in his balls, he leaned forward and took the cockhead back into his mouth, making the man above him hiss. Stiles knew what the consequences of the action would be, but he was still tempted to rip Brunski's disgusting dick off with his teeth. The tasing he'd get before he could fully complete the action would be worth it. Maybe he could permanently damage the dick, making Brunski an invalid. Then they'd really see who was fucking laughable. 

But it was as if Malia could read his mind. Her delicate fingers calmly spoke to his thigh in a soothing caress, unseen by Brunski, and it was like a shot of sanity to Stiles' brain.  _ That's your anger talking,  _ Malia's fingers said _. Don't do it, Stiles _ . With a calming breath through the nose, Stiles lowered himself on the appendage, the taste of Malia filling his mouth as he did so. 

"Ahhh, yeesss…" the man moaned. The sound of his voice made Stiles' shoulders tighten. The boy had to remind himself to listen to Malia's calming hand on his thigh.  _ It's okay. I'm okay. You're okay.  _ It continued to caress his leg and Stiles managed to take the dick into his throat. He let it slide down until his nose rested in Brunski's sweaty pubes.

"Oh my God… oh my… fuck—" Brunski pumped up into Stiles' mouth a few times, fucking the boy's esophagus, completely unaware of how close he was to losing the proper function of his dick, that stupid taser be damned. "I'm so fucking close—okay switch. Let her suck it while you luck my balls."

With forced stoicism, Stiles traded mouths with Malia, obediently moving his lips down to Brunski's sack instead. After a few grunts and thrusts into her mouth, and a couple of wet licks from Stiles , Brunski shoved Malia down and filled her throat with jizz. Then, he lazily stood up and tucked himself back in, huffing like he'd just lost a bar fight. "It looks like you two have a lot to talk about," he chuckled. And without looking back, he turned and left up the stairs, leaving Stiles boiling in fury. Boiling over what had just been done to him, what he'd been forced to watch, forced to do, and boiling that Malia had been keeping secrets from him.

"Malia! Why didn't you tell me!" Stiles attacked, letting all of his rage out as soon as he was sure the man was gone. For a second Malia simply looked at Stiles, gauging his anger. Then she slowly climbed to her feet and collected her clothes.

"Because I didn't want you to do anything crazy," she said softly, clearly forcing herself to remain calm under the boy's rage. She slipped into her pants, and scooped up her bra.

Stiles paced the small space frantically, completely unphased that he was still stark naked. Crazy! He was gonna do  _ more  _ than crazy. He was gonna  _ kill that bastard!  _ Stiles was gonna  _ strangle  _ him! He was gonna gouge his fucking eyes out and feed them to the birds! Of all the things Brunski had done to him, nothing,  _ nothing, _ had been that cruel. This was a new evil, even for Brunski. There was only so much Stiles could take before he snapped. 

"I knew I wasn't the only one. I knew he… three times a week Malia! You should've told me!" He abruptly stopped pacing, snapping at her.

"It wasn't  _ always  _ three times a week," she responded, softly, snapping the latches of her bra. "He was exaggerating to upset you. Sometimes he would go two, three weeks occasionally over a month without touching me. And don't play that card," she added icily. "If Oliver hadn't told me, I probably wouldn't know about you until now either!"

"That's different!" Stile fired.

"Why?!" she fired back, her defenses finally wavering. She snatched her shirt over her head. "Because you're a guy?!"

"Yes! It's different because with me it's about pride and shame! How do you think I feel being a man that has to lie there and let another man do that to me?! Huh?! Of  _ course _ I didn't want to tell you about it! But you? You should've told me!"

"That's not fair, Stiles! That's not how things work! That's not how—"

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW THINGS WORK! YOU'VE BEEN A COYOTE FOR HALF YOUR LIFE!"

"ARRRGH!" she screamed, tugging at the ends of her hair in frustration. "I! Am NOT! A—" she paused abruptly, almost as if someone had wrapped their fingers around her throat to cut her off. "No. I'm not going to fight with you." She took a deep steadying breath, and put her loafers on, forcing her voice to remain level. "Because that's what he wants. If we argue, he wins. And honestly, he's already won enough." And with that, she left up the stairs, without looking back just like Brunski had, leaving Stiles naked and alone.

"Malia!" Stiles roared after her. She ignored him. "Malia, you come back here! We have to talk about this! MALIA!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the comments and kudos! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Malia ignored Stiles for a few days after that, though he approached her several times, during lunch, dinner, after group therapy… She only spoke to him once.

"If you can't talk to me without an attitude, then I don't want to talk." And it had been the cold shoulder ever since. How the hell was he supposed to not have an attitude when she was treating him like that?! Fucking Brunski! Driving a wedge between them! Stiles spent the next several days brooding. 

Twice in a row he was completely silent for the entire thirty minutes he was alone with Morrell. On both occasions, he'd sat with his arms folded, blankly staring at the wall of her office, ignoring her completely, though he could feel her eyes boring into him. She didn't try to get him to speak. Both times, she'd warmly greeted him, and he'd stoically ignored her. Then they sat in thirty minutes of silence until she released him. Stiles swiftly swooped from the office without looking at her. 

He ignored everyone, even his roommate Oliver. Brunski surprisingly hadn't bothered him since that night, something that was bothering Stiles. It made him wonder if the man was with Malia instead. That thought incensed him as he stood by the window in his room staring out at the full moon. Had Brunski been going to her room on all the night's he hadn't come to Stiles'? Did the man rape one of the patients every night? 

Stiles and Malia had to get out of there. He had to think of something to get them out. Because how long had Meredith put up with Brunski before she'd snapped? Was she suicidal before she'd been admitted? Is that _why_ she'd been admitted? Stiles realized that he didn't really know much about her. She had always been the crazy girl, mozying about and softly muttering to herself. 

Stiles didn't want to wind up there. He didn't want to get the point that he felt death was his only way out, and he didn't want that for Malia. Maybe she could somehow trick them into thinking she was taking her medicine when she actually wasn't. Then, when she had her powers back, she could bust them out. He had to get her to talk to him again first though. She'd been ignoring him since the basement with Brunski and— 

It was then that Stiles saw a bush ruffle far below. And…

...out popped Scott McCall. He stood down on the ground, grinning his crooked, childish grin, peering up at Stiles and Stiles' jaw dropped because—It was Scott! He was finally there! He had finally come! Stiles frantically fumbled with the latch and tugged the window open.

"Scott!" Stiles cried softly, remembering that Oliver was asleep. For a second he listened to check that, yes, the boy was still snoring. Then he peered out the window again. It was as if he'd been stuck in a dark room for days and Scott was sunshine. "Oh my God, Scott!"

"Hey, Stiles," Scott beamed, waving up at him, frivolously. 

"I _knew_ you were coming," Stiles said, almost crying with joy, "but what the hell took so long?!" Stiles huffed. "It's been _months!_ "

"I'm sorry, man," Scott responded deplorably. "But this place was surprisingly _really_ hard to get into. It's gonna be next to impossible trying to get you out."

"Wait—w—what?" Stiles stammard. "Of course you can get me out. Don't say that!"

"No, Stiles. I don't think I can. At least not without your help. Listen, I have an idea, okay? Tomorrow, I'm gonna be waiting for you out here. You have to start a fire, Stiles. If you start a fire, they'll have to evacuate the building. And during the hectic frenzy, I'll bust the gate open and you can escape!" 

"What?" Stiles said incredulously. "That's a _horrible_ plan, Scott! How am I supposed to start a fire!"

"I don't know! Figure it out! I'm gonna be waiting here tomorrow evening, Stiles! This might be—"

"...what are you mumbling about?" Brunski asked quizzically from behind him. "Who the hell are you talking to?" Stiles froze. He hadn't even heard the man come in. He slowly turned around to face the him. He should've known the orderly wouldn't stay gone for too long. Had he gotten bored with the other patients? Were they not responsive enough for him? He sure picked an inopportune time to interrupt Stiles.

"Um," he mumbled, peering over his shoulder and down to the ground where he found no one there. Scott had vanished with the speed that only a werewolf could achieve. "No one," Stiles said hastily. "Myself."

"You are one crazy son of a bitch, you know that?" the man chuckled. 

"What do you want?" Stile said through clenched teeth. 

Brunski smiled, groping his crotch. "You know what I want. Take your pants off." 

Stiles stared into the man's eyes with his blood heating up. After scanning the man's frame for any large lumps in his pocket and not finding any, Stiles squared his shoulders defiantly. No. If Brunski wanted to do this, he was gonna have to fight for it. Stiles was done with his shit. 

"Ahh," Brunski huffed in amusement, raising an eyebrow. "I made someone angry didn't I? I shouldn't have messed with your girlfriend. It pissed you off, huh?" He chuckled. Stiles clenched his fist, bracing himself. "Look, I didn't come in here to fight for it. I came to you because I know you're a weak little pussy who gives it to me without resistance."

"Yeah? Well not anymore," Stiles growled, clenching his fist tighter. He knew that this would end badly for him, but he didn't care. Stiles was done. At least he could hit Brunski a few times before the man took what he wanted. 

"Stiles, if I wanted to fight I would've gone to Malia's room," Brunski snapped, the humor in his tone gone. Stiles was clearly pissing him off. "Should I leave and go over there instead?"

At the mention of that, the defense suddenly left Stiles. "No—don't do that. Don't bot—"

"Then take off your fucking pants and get in the bed," the man snarled. Stiles dropped his head, defeated. Of course Brunski would win. He always had the upper hand. Who did Stiles think he was trying to resist? He slowly slid his pants over the curve of his ass, kicked them from his ankles, and stoically laid across his stomach in the bed. 

Brunski smiled as he pushed his bottoms down just enough to free his already aching dick, the hard tip swollen. "No. On your back. I want to see your face while I fuck you."

With clenched teeth, Stiles obeyed, languidly rolling over, separating his legs for the man. Stiles' limp cock flopped lazily against his flat stomach and cringed, knowing that it wouldn't remain limp for much longer. 

"Atta boy," Brunski grinned. Stiles begrudgingly peered over at the throbbing appendage jutting out before Brunski. Stiles wished that he wasn't so familiar with its veiny girth. At this point, Stiles knew Brunski's dick almost as good as he knew his own. He could probably pick the man's cock out of a lineup. Because he knew every inch of it. Every blemish and every contour. Just like he knew exactly how good it was about to feel inside of him as the man climbed between his open legs. When he started gently playing with Stiles' hole, instead of shoving them in forcefully, the boy also knew that he was in for a long night. 

"I'm about to make you feel so good," Brunski mumbled while he pumped his dick and rubbed his finger around Stiles' hole. The boy inhaled a deep steady breath, bracing himself for the mortification. If Brunski wanted it to be good, it was gonna be damn good. And Stiles was gonna hate it. As always, his cock slowly reacted to the anal stimulation and to the thought of the dreadfully amazing treatment he was about to recieve. 

"Look at that…" Brunski mumbled at the sight of the stiffening appendage. "You're already getting hard for me. You're a little pussy boy. You love my dick, don't you?"

Stiles simply laid there, like always, letting the man violate him. He turned his face to the wall and fortunately, Brunski didn't press him to answer. 

"You don't want to talk tonight?" Brunski asked with faux indignation as he poked the blunt head of his cock against Stiles tight hole. He languidly stroked the extensive length of it between the boy's plush cheeks a few times before he spoke again. "That's okay. Because you're gonna moan instead. Just like you always do, you little slut. And you're gonna moan extra loud because guess what?" Cheerfully, he leaned back, briefly relieving Stiles from the disgustingly magnificent feeling of the thick cock violating the crevice between his ass cheeks. Brunski dug his hand into his pocket and came out with a tiny bottle of clear liquid. "I brought you a surprise. It's gonna make this extra good for you. You're gonna love it." Well that was new. "But more importantly, it's gonna make it extra good for me." Brunski plastered his nastiest kind smile across his face.

With an annoyingly throbbing cock (he vainly willed the erection to go away) Stiles watched him pop the cap of the little bottle and dribble a bit of it on his fingers as he mumbled, "So fucking stiff, you little bitch…" Then, to Stiles' complete and utter horror, Brunski shifted in the small bed and slowly lowered himself—

"Wait! No— _fuck_ …" 

Stiles' stiff cock was engulfed inside Brunski's warm mouth. The boy's legs trembled and he gasped with his fist twisting in the sheets as he tried to fight the incomprehensible pleasure. Fuck… Stiles thumped his head against his pillow and clenched his eyes shut. If he was forced to endure it, he could at least give himself one victory by not watching. 

No. Stiles refused to watch as Brunski went down, down, down his shaft. Stiles grunted through the pleasure, twisting his face in shear defiance, as the man's nose brushed his pubes, his throat clenching around the shaft. 

...then he swallowed.

"...oh my _fucking_ God…" The moan was inexorable. The man had Stiles' cockhead so deep inside his throat, the boy thought it could possibly get stuck there. And wouldn't that be great. It would get stuck and Brunski would fucking suffocate on it… Stiles wallowed in the fleeting pleasure that thought elicited before the orderly slid back and swirled his tongue around Stiles plump tip. 

"Hmnnnnngh…."

Brunski chuckled darkly around the dick in his mouth. He was loving inflicting the awful pleasure. When he slipped down once more, taking Stiles deep into his throat again, the boy felt two slippery finger pop inside of him, immediately locating that one spot. Stiles' back promptly arched away from the bed, pushing his cock even further down the man's throat and increasing the irritating pleasure and Stiles had to admit that the lube most certainly made things much easier. 

"Godammit…" Stiles was already nearing bursting point and it was like the man could sense it, like was intune with Stiles' pleasure. Evidently he'd violated the boy so much that he'd learned the signs. Brunski abruptly popped off him, grinning wickedly, wiping slob from his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Not yet," he huffed. "You're gonna come on my dick." He slipped a third finger into Stiles and twisted them, making the boy mewl. "Just like you always do." With and wickedly lustful grin, Brunski thrusted the three fingers in and out of the boy, effectively fucking his tight hole with the meaty appendages, making Stiles twitch and squirm and gasp as he pointlessly tried to fight his reaction to the stimulation. 

Stiles' dick was so hard he could possibly crack eggs with it. When Brunski shuffled forward and pushed his legs open wider, Stiles knew the brief preparation was over. The imminence had arrived. He felt the warm tip against him. And then—

Oh wow. Oh _wow_. With lube guiding the way instead of spit, Brunski slid right in. 

"...dick feels good, doesn't it? Huh?" Stiles blatantly ignored him to which he only chuckled. "That dick feels good, didn't it?" The repetition was only met by more silence (which was succeeded by an even larger grin). "You don't have to say it," Brunski grunted, thrusting slowly and smoothly, his hairy ass flexing with the effort and his long thick dick stretching Stiles' tiny hole, getting deep inside the boy. "I know you love it…" 

"Hmmmngh…" Stiles whined, reaching for his throbbing cock to only find himself thwarted 

"No." Brinks grunted she snapped the boy's wrist in a cufflike grip, slamming them over his head. "You're not touching yourself tonight." _Well fuck you, Brunski_. Stiles tried to glare defiantly, but dick sensually grazing into him wouldn't allow it. So he simply flopped his head and settled in for the ride. 

As predicted, it was a long one. Brunski slowly pumped into him for what felt like forever, ("...ass is so fucking good boy…") making Stiles moan a squirm the entire time. His aching, neglected cock leaked between them, and Brunski simply marveled at it, still refusing to let him touch it. 

It was as the man crawled from atop him, after the glorious torture was over, and after Stiles' gut and chest was filled cum (because he had still spilled all over himself from the sensation of Brunski's dick alone) that the boy noticed a tiny square object on the floor next to his bed. He was certain that it hadn't been there before. Stiles frowned. The room was dark so he couldn't properly decipher what it was. It must've fallen unnoticed from Brunski's pocket when he'd removed the lube. Stiles' heart skipped several beats in excitement before it relaxed when he realized the object was too small to be the taser. Whatever it was, Brunski was clearly unaware that he'd dropped it and Stiles didn't want the man to see it. 

He casually rolled to a sitting position in the edge of the bed and clandestinely brushed the tiny square under the bed with his foot as the orderly fumbled with his pants. 

"Good night, sweetums," Brunski said sweetly with his deep dimples, completely clueless as he tucked himself away. Stiles silently watched the man slip out of the room. After he heard the lock latch, he promptly dove under the dusty bed, reaching out blindly until his fingers found the small object—definitely too small to be the taser. Stiles retracted, peering quizzically into his palm at…

Brunski's zippo. 

Stiles' breath left him in an astonished huff and his eyes popped. He couldn't believe his luck. How convenient was this? It was as if the universe had planted it here for him, as if it _wanted_ him to escape... Stiles clutched the small piece of metal tightly in his palm and smiled.

Because he had a lighter...

...Stiles was starting a fire. 

—

It was late in the afternoon of the next day when Stiles sat hissing as the institution's nurse swiped an alcohol pad across his mildly injured knee. He'd been moping about the patio, plotting the best way to escape and cursing Scott for not giving him more time when the thought had occurred to him. It was crazy. People that did things like this possibly deserved to be in an institution. But the evening drew nearer and he hadn't come up with anything. Sure he had the lighter but he had no fuel. So Stiles had acted out of desperation.

Now, he was in the infirmary being cared for by the same black woman who had spoken to him and his father on his first day here, the same woman who had admitted him. Stiles surprisingly hadn't seen much of the woman since then.

"You should be more careful young man," the nurse said warmly, as she slipped the bandage over the deep cut in Stiles' knee. In all of the months Stiles had been in Eichen, his first visit to the infirmary was due to a self-inflicted injury. Of course, he hadn't told the nurse that. She believed he had tripped over the leg of one of the lawn chairs. When he had actually purposely ripped through his pants and cut a gash into himself with a jagged rock. 

"Yeah." Stiles chuckled like someone who had made a silly mistake would. "Honestly, as clumsy as I am," (the _lies_ ), "I'm surprised this is my first time in here."

The nurse smiled kindly. "Thankfully you came straight here," she said as she replaced her sanitizing equipment back into the cabinet behind her. Stiles peered over her shoulder as she did so. The cabinet was the reason he was there. Over her shoulder on a shelf, Stiles could see several different first aid kits, iodine, hydrogen peroxide, and—Stiles grinned in triumph.

Isopropyl alcohol. Several bottles of it. Stiles had known there had to be some in the building somewhere, and what better place to search for it than the infirmary? He'd known that if he went in with a serious enough cut, she would have to sterilize the wound, inadvertently showing him where the alcohol was in the process. The nurse closed the cabinet blocking Stiles view. There was a keyhole on the cabinet, suggesting that it was locked up whenever the nurse was away. 

"This shouldn't get infected now." She came back over to pat his knee affectionately. "You can run along now. Don't take the bandage off until you shower tomorrow morning. Then let it get some oxygen so it can start healing."

Stiles nodded with an obedient smile, forcing himself to not eye the cabinet greedily as a plan—a feeble one but a plan nonetheless—formed in his head. "Thank you," he said with a gracious smile as he climbed down from the bench. "I promise to be more careful." And with that, he slipped away from the office. He was gone for maybe a minute. He gave himself that much time before he rushed back to the infirmary in a—hopefully not overt—frenzy. 

"Nurse! I think I heard someone fall in the women's bathroom," Stiled spluttered urgently. "Someone should go check on them!"

And Stiles watched the woman rush away. Honestly, he was surprised it had been that easy. Without wasting any time, he quickly snatched up a few of the bottles and dashed away. Phase one complete. 

Phase two just kind of happened. It wasn't planned like phase one. It was impulsive and abrupt. Stiles ran directly to Malia's room afterwards to find her and force her to talk to him, to tell her that they were escaping. He'd peeped through the sliding hole on the door to her room and found Brunski there, struggling with Malia in the floor. He saw the man's naked ass between her resisting legs. He'd managed to get her bottoms off her and was thrusting inside her with a hand cupped over her mouth. Seeing the man's body atop her broke something inside of Stiles, snapped. He was already at the edge and he just… tipped over. 

While Stiles had been with the nurse getting patched up, Brunski had been creeping into Malia's room...

Stiles opened the door, mindlessly dropping the few bottles of alcohol near the entrance. Before either of them could look up properly, before anyone could even think, Stiles wrapped his fingers tightly in the man hair and, with a fierce grunt and all the force he had in him, smashed his head into the wall—"Oh my God, Stiles!" Malia squealed—where he heard something crack before the man promptly collapsed atop Malia. Stiles wasn't sure if the sound had been the wall or the orderly's skull. He hoped it was the latter. 

Stiles didn't stop.

Everything Brunski had ever done to him, to Malia, to Meredith… The rage came boiling to the surface. He roughly tugged the man from atop her and bashed his head into the floor. Repeatedly. Another crunching sound permeated throughout the room. Stiles bashed again. The next time he lifted the man's head, there was a bloody spot on the floor. Stiles bashed again. And again, And ag—

"Stiles? Stiles stop—!" She tugged fiercely at the boy's struggling arm. He wanted to keep _bashing_. He _hated_ Brunski so fucking much! "Stop, Stiles! He's not getting up!" She frantically tugged Stiles off the unconscious man. "Stiles stop!"

Stiles snatched himself away and scrambled back over to the alcohol. Malia watched the boy's frenzied and hectic movements in a panic, completely unsure of how to respond.

"Stiles, where did you get alcohol?" she asked anxiously, watching the boy in complete horror. "Why do you—Oh my—Stiles stop! _What are you doing?!_ " 

Stiles had popped open one of the bottles and was wildly splashing it all over Brunski's half naked body. 

"I'm getting us out of here!" Stiles said frantically, as he poured a line of alcohol from the man's body over to her bed. "Scott's waiting outside for us. I have to start a fire. He told me last night!" He dug the zippo from his pocket as he popped open another bottle and spilled it's contents all over her sheets. Malia gasped at the sight of the lighter. 

"Stiles where did you get—oh my God…" It was then that she dashed away from the room bare assed in a frantic frenzy, either not realizing or not caring that she hadn't yet put her pants back on. 

"No—wai—" Stiles swooped over to the door after her. "Malia come back!" he called to the girls swiftly retreating, hair naked form sprint down the hall. "Scott is waiting for us—fuck!" Several patients watched her curiously, but no one interfered. 

Stiles grunted in frustration and went back to his work. He had to move quickly. He would catch up with Malia later. He popped open the last bottle and was flinging it everywhere when a frantic Malia returned with Morrell in tow. 

"...going on about Scott being outside and starting a fire!"

"But this doesn't explain why you don't have any pants and—" She turned and her eyes fell on the site before her. Stiles standing in the middle of an alcohol filled room, zippo lighter at hand, and a half naked, unconscious Brunski on the floor. Stiles saw Morrell's eyes glance between the man's naked body and Malia's. But that clearly wasn't her priority at the moment. 

"Stiles?" Morrell said, freezing outside the room as if Stiles were a bunny she would frighten away if she moved too suddenly. Stiles peered over a Malia indignantly. Didn't she understand that he was doing this for _them?_ So they could get out of the infernal place? How could she rat on him to Morrell like that? 

"I _trusted_ you!" he snarled in disbelief. "This is the only way to get us out of here!"

"I'm _sorry_ Stiles," she stammered, tears running down her face now. "but—but you're scaring me! What you're doing is insane! Please stop!" 

Stiles glanced back over to Morrell where she stood frozen, giving him the same delicate approach that she'd given Meredith on that unfaithful day. It was then that he realized, if Morrell was treating this situation exactly the same as she had treated that one, he must look as crazy as Meredith had just before she killed herself. "Just… give me the lighter, Stiles." She gently crept closer to him. 

"I can't," Stiles mumbled, glancing over at the alcohol filled bed. "Scott's outside waiting for me. I have to start the fire." His thumb hovered over the striker. 

"No he's not, Stiles," she said stepping closer. 

"Yes he is!" Stiles snapped angrily. "I spoke to him from my room's window last night! He told me! He's outside waiting for me!"

"Stiles _please_ ," Morrell pressed urgently, the desperation clear in her tone. "No he's not. But I know where he is," she added confidently, steadily creeping forward. 

Stiles faltered, his hand twitching around the lighter. "You know where Scott is?" 

"Yes. I assure you, he's not outside, but I know where he is. Give me the lighter and I'll take you to him. I promise." She was standing directly in front of Stiles now. She had him backed into the corner. She could easily wrench the lighter from him if she wanted to. But instead she held her palm out to him. "I've never lied to you, and I never will. Give me the lighter, and I'll take you to Scott."

Stiles stared at her grave but completely honest face for a moment. It was true. She had never lied to him. Scott said that he would be waiting for Stiles in the evening. The sun had started to set. Stiles had taken too long to start the fire. Scott wasn't waiting anymore. But Morrell knew where he was. 

Stiles peered into Morrell's kind and honest eyes. With trembling fingers, he dropped the lighter into her outstretched hand.

—

"Why is he here?" Stiles asked bitterly when he and Morrell approached the Eichen gates, only to find Sheriff Stilinski waiting stoically with a police car. "You never said _he_ was coming."

"Whenever a patient leaves the institution—usually a reward for good behavior—a police escort is required." She explained this calmly as descended the walkway through the well groomed front lawn of Eichen, growing steadily closer to the gate. "But more importantly, you're a minor and he's your guardian. Legally, I can't take you anywhere without his permission." She smiled at Stiles kindly.

Stiles peered back, watching her swipe the card to unlock the gate. A small beep acknowledged the card's authority, the red light turned green, and the gate popped open. With a warm smile, Morrell pulled it wide and gestured for him to exit first. A small part of Stiles was expecting there to be some kind of force field preventing progression. But there was nothing. He simply stepped out onto the sidewalk outside the gate, where his father stood waiting by the police car. 

…and suddenly Stiles was free. There were no cuffs on him. He wasn't restrained in any way. He could escape if he wanted to. He was young and could certainly outrun both of the adults with ease. Especially Morrell who was typically wearing heels. His heart thumped in his chest. 

"This isn't some trick is it?" Stiles said, eyeing the two adults hesitantly.

"No, son," Noah assured him, as Morrell pulled the gate closed behind them. "We're taking you to see Scott, just like she promised." Noah held the car door open for him. 

To Stiles' complete surprise, Morrell climbed into the backseat then stared back at him warmly. Stiles gawked at the gesture. Instead of riding in front, she was riding in the back with him, where she knew the door would lock from the inside. Stiles wouldn't be the only one trapped. Neither of them would be able to get out of the car unless his dad released them. 

"You can trust me, Stiles," she smiled, holding her hand out for him.

Stiles hesitantly took it, climbing in after her. 

Her smile broadened and she pulled his hand into her lap as his dad closed their door, climbed in, and fired up the engine. They slowly pulled away from the curb and for the first time in months, Stiles watched Eichen grow smaller until they turned the corner at the end of the street. 

The ride was smooth and quiet, with Noah casting periodic glimpses into the backseat through the mirror. And though Morrell never released Stiles' hand, he couldn't stop his foot from tapping timidly—suspiciously—in the floor as he watched the familiar city pass by through the window. 

The buildings were the same. There were other cars on the road. People were out walking as the sky darkened, probably headed home after a long day at work. Stiles wasn't sure why he was surprised. Just because his life was shambled inside the institution, didn't mean everyone else's life wasn't continuing normally outside of it.

"We're almost there," Morrell reassured him after a few minutes, rubbing the back of his hand affectionately. Stiles watched as his father slowed and turned in under the arch of the city's graveyard.

"Why are we going to a cemetery?" Stiles asked cautiously.

"Because this is where Scott is," Morrell responded calmly.

Stiles frowned. Why was Scott meeting them in a cemetery? He looked around, searching for his friend as the car slowly pulled passed the gravestones until it abruptly slowed to a complete stop after maybe half a minute in. Stiles continued peering around. His father parked and got out.

"I don't see him…" Stiles said, the suspicion creeping back into his tone as he grew hesitant again. What was Morrell trying to pull?

"We have to walk from here," Morrell explained, her calm, honest smile still firmly in place as Noah opened the door to release them. She excited first, then patiently stood by waiting for Stiles. He timidly stepped from the vehicle, partially expecting somebody to swoop in and slap him in cuffs or something.

But nothing happened. 

"It's just this way," she assured him as they set off, with Noah trailing silently a few paces behind them. Stile glanced around and the suspicion crashed on with an even harder vengeance. He was certain that there was no one in the cemetery but the three of them. If this was some kind of trap… If Morrell had lied to him… They walked into the gravestones for about fifteen seconds with Stiles' breaths coming sharper with each step until Morrell suddenly came to a halt.

"You said Scott was here," Stiles' tone was filled with betrayal. "Is he not here yet? Is he on his way?" Stiles peered around the empty cemetery again, still searching vainly for his friend even though he knew it was empty. Scott wasn't there. Morrell had lied.

"No," Morrell said sadly, pointing down. "He's right here." Stiles looked down, following her finger to a gravestone.

_Scott McCall_

_09/16/1994 - 06/05/2011_

"What…?" Stiles peered at the tiny stone.

"Stiles, Scott's dead," Morrell said, softly but firmly, as if she were delivering the news to a military wife whose husband had died in action. "He died 5 months ago when you and he went into the woods searching for the body of Laura Hale. He was mauled by a—"

"No... " Stiles mumbled, shaking his head at the gravestone. 

"—mountain lion, not bitten by a wolf," Morrell continued as memories suddenly flashed through Stiles' head.

_"Stiles what are you doing out here?" Sheriff Stilinski asked. "Where's your partner in crime?"_

_"Who, Scott? Scott's at home," Stiles lied, knowing that Scott was over hiding behind a tree. Noah flashed the light into the woods._

_"Scott? You out there, Scott?"_

Morrell's voice snatched Stiles back to the present.

"He was mauled by a mountain lion," she continued firmly, "the same mountain lion that killed Laura Hale, and the same mountain lion that Chris Argent shot in the high school's parking lot. There was no wolf Stiles. Wolves haven't been seen in this part of California for _years_." 

"No…" Stiles repeatedly more firmly, staring incredulously at the gravestone as he remembered something else from that night. 

_How the hell is Scott gonna get home?_ he remembered thinking, as his dad had drug him away from the woods. Stiles had left his asthmatic best friend alone. He'd left him in those dark woods to stumble his way out on his own. If a wolf attached him...

...how had Scott escaped?

"Stiles. He died. And your psyche created this huge delusion that you've hidden yourself under, about werewolves, and hunters and druids and everything else, as a coping mechanism because you subconsciously believe that his death was your fault because you took him into the woods that night." 

"No!"

" _Yes_. Scott McCall _died_ , Stiles. I have told you this several times. Your father has told you, even _Malia_ has told you once, but you keep blocking it from your memory. Your mind is resisting the truth. He died. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you will recover. He died and it is _not_ your fault."

"No!" Stiles knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground. There was too much happening. Stiles couldn't handle it all. The memories kept flashing while Morrell kept telling him lies. He knew he shouldn't have trusted her. He knew she wouldn't really take him to Scott… Stiles couldn't process it. His vision blurred. "I was just talking to him last night…" Stiles spluttered. 

Morrell knelt down and cradled his head in her lap. "Stiles," she whispered. "There's no way you could have spoken to Scott last night. The windows of Eichen don't open."

This was the last thing Stiles heard before his eyes fluttered closed.

—

Stiles came in and out of consciousness after that. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. First, he was greeted by the sight of the same kind nurse he'd stolen the alcohol from. She was fumbling around on a counter besides Stiles'... bed? Yes, Stiles was lying on something.

"Well look who's awake," the nurse said kindly, after noticing his own eyes. "You're one sneaky little bastard, you know that? I didn't even know the alcohol was missing."

Stiles simply stared at the woman, trying to focus his blurred vision. But then his eyes fluttered closed again. 

When he came to again, it was a weeping Malia that he saw next. She was seated placidly in a seat beside him, the nurse nowhere in sight. Stiles was able to stay awake a little longer that time, though his head was pounding. It felt like it had been overworked, like spent hours trying to cram for a test he knew he was going to fail. 

"I'm sorry, Stiles," were Malia's first words when she saw that he was away, before he could properly focus his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Stiles fumbled into a sitting position in the bed. She sat next to him with a comforting hand on his arm.

"I'm leaving soon and I have to confess before I go. I couldn't leave without you knowing the truth." She dropped her head, almost as if I'm shame. "I'm not a werecoyote, Stiles," she said, as if it was her first time returning to a confessional after months away. "I'm just a regular girl." It took a moment for those words to sink in. 

"W—what are you saying?" Stiles stammered. 

"I'm saying I don't have any powers. I don't have extra strength. I never did. There were no antipsychotics. I'm just a regular girl. I'm here on suicide watch. We've talked about this once, but you blocked it out.

"I was throwing a tantrum over ice cream when I caused the car crash that killed my family. That's how my mom and sister died, Stiles. I didn't have a wolf transformation in the backseat. The Desert Wolf is not my mom and she wasn't shooting at our car. My mom was my mom. I told you that story when we met and you twisted it to make it fit your delusion and I've been going on with your story because I want to be with you, but Morrell says I have to stop feeding your delusions. She thinks my being here is the reason you're not getting better and I'm starting to agree with her so… 

"My dad's coming to get me tomorrow. He's wanted me to come back home for a while now but I've been lying to him about my recovery so I could stay here to be close to you. Yesterday, I told him I want to go home, though. I think you'll be better off without me. You can recover."

"...wait. So you've been lying to me? This entire time?" Stiles asked, his head pounding. _I thought you loved me. You told Morrell that you loved me._

"I'm so sorry, Stiles," she repeated. "I wanted us to be together. You were always so nice to me. I didn't want to hurt you."

"No Malia. In a relationship you always tell the truth whether it hurts or not. Everything we ever talked about was a lie."

"No. Don't say that, not everything! The emotions were real. Stiles, I want you to find me—"

"You're making my head hurt," Stiles interrupted, sharply, turning to look away from her. She sighed a defeated sound.

"Maybe you should get some more rest." She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Goodbye, Stiles." She stood and silently left the room. Stiles watched the door open and close before his eyes fluttered closed and he fell asleep again. 

It was he didn't know how long later when he was awakened a third time, by the creaking infirmary door.

"Good afternoon Stiles," Morrel said, stepping in. "How are you feeling?" Her voice was kind and sincere. Stiles could hear that she was actually concerned. 

"My head hurts…" he admitted. 

"I'll see if I can't get the nurse to give you something for it." She smiled, slipping into the chair. "But I have a few questions for you, okay. First, can you tell me exactly what happened with Brunski? How long has he been doing these things? Has he ever done anything to harm _you?_ "

"I… I don't know. It's making my head hurt," Stiles grunted painfully.

"That's okay. We'll come back to that question later," she said fondly. "Stiles, what's the last thing you remember?" 

"I…" Stiles strained his throbbing brain. He could recall something about a fire… and Brunski naked and unconscious. "I don't know…"

She smiled her forced smiled. "Stiles. Who is Scott McCall?"

"Scott?" Stiles perked up a little in the bed. That was an easy question. "Scott's my best friend. Nothing can change that. He's gonna come and bust me out of here." Morrell's face seemed to sag with every word the boy spoke. She took a deep steadying breath, staring at him blankly for a second before continuing.

"And that's because he's a werewolf? Right?" she asked stoically.

"I know you don't believe me. But you _will_. I don't know why he hasn't done it yet, but he's coming."

"Why hasn't Malia Tate broken you out?" 

"Who?" Stiles peered at the woman curiously. 

"Malia Tate?" Morrell repeated calmly.

"I don't know." Stiles shrugged. "I've never heard that name before."

A rare frown escaped Morrell. She dug into her pocket and came out with her phone, tapping around on it for a second before she turned the screen to Stiles, showing him a picture of a sandy haired girl.

"You've never met this person?" Morrell asked curiously. 

"I've never seen that girl a day in my life," Stiles said heavily.

Morrell's lips tightened. "I think that's enough for today, Stiles," she said in her stoically calm voice. "I'm going to go now. Get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow." And with that, she stood, tucked her phone away, and left the infirmary. 

Stiles laid there with the nagging headache and the black nurse busied herself about him. As he watched her, he desperately racked his brain for how he landed him in the infirmary and continuously came back with a blank. His mind would simply circle back to a single question. 

_Where the hell is Scott?_

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading and thanks for the comments and kudos! :)


End file.
